


Sunrise (Thank you for accepting who I am)

by sunshine_kitcat (moonkevin)



Series: Sun clouds: A League of Legends x Seventeen AU [3]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, I promise nobody dies, M/M, Post-Rework League of Legends Lore, junhui's just an angsty boi ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23279233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonkevin/pseuds/sunshine_kitcat
Summary: Junhui wonders if Jeonghan had ever seen a murderer break before.“You said you wanted to know of my world, right?” Junhui says, voice shaky and spiteful, yet he doesn’t know who he hates more. Mistress for putting him in this situation, or himself, for never having the courage to say no.He can’t say no.Junhui ignores himself, staring right into Jeonghan’s eyes as the other gives him a hesitant nod. Junhui chokes, no longer shaking as crystalline tears roll down his cheeks.“Well, welcome to our world.”
Relationships: Implied Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Yoon Jeonghan, Past Wen Jun Hui | Jun/Yan An
Series: Sun clouds: A League of Legends x Seventeen AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591327
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1: When I heard you (JH)

The first thing Jeonghan feels upon waking up is absolutely nothing.

Jeonghan doesn’t know quite what he expected, coming into a landscape he knows to be absolutely nothing but snow and ice. The Freljord is home only to those strong enough for it, able to adapt and survive. It is ruled by three sisters, each more cutthroat than the last. It is known that Freljord is the sisters’ life force, and the fact that it’s made of pure snow and ice just further reinforces it. They were not bonded by blood, nor good found family feelings. No, it was the true ice magic that coursed through their veins that bound them together.

Jeonghan just wishes the cursed disembodied voice gave him a goddamn coat.

By the time enough feeling has returned to Jeonghan’s body, he kind of wishes it hasn’t. The cold was painful, bitter pricks that left his skin aching and scratched. There’s a numbing sense of pain in his lower back, something like a broken bone or a ripped muscle probably. Whatever the case, Jeonghan can feel it gnawing away at his brain’s pain receptors, burning up at the contact to snow next to him. A terribly timed sense of deja vu hits him at the cold sensation on his hands, except he has no blisters or scars this time. It doesn’t make it much better, but Jeonghan is glad it isn’t the same at least. The Solarians back home say Aspects are the most powerful beings in the world, and they aren’t bothered by mundane things like pain.

They never said anything about the cold.

Just when Jeonghan thinks he’s going to fail the quest because he didn’t get a chance to pack, something loops around his body. The touch was foreign, yet Jeonghan’s five hundred years of practically gluing himself to another human being give him instant recognition of skin. He wants to open his eyes, or even try to hear something, but his entire body is too numb for that. He can feel the semblance of breath on his face, hot air tickling his cheek at a rhythmic pace. Jeonghan guesses his rescuer must be mumbling to themself.

In the back of his mind, Jeonghan tries to figure out who this mysterious person is and which sister he’ll have to face. He prays that whatever flimsy article of clothing the disembodied voice gave him at least covered up his mark, for it is probably glowing and pulsing to keep him alive. The sisters will kill him at first sight out of fear, jealousy or spite.

He supposes the first one won’t be too bad. The Winter Claw’s Queen was known for her bloodlust and merciless ways. She will stop at nothing to ensure not only her tribe’s survival but its prosperity too. In a normal setting, this will be fine. But in the Freljord, where sharing resources is simply impossible, the Queen is terror incarnate. Jeonghan has seen the Queen crush skulls and grate bones for fun, and he’s seen her execute men for simply looking at her the wrong way in the dreams. Even if her hate is blind, the Queen is logical. She knows not to make a strong enemy, yet Jeonghan hopes he doesn’t have to demonstrate his power at all.

His other option was the Avarosan Warmother. She wasn’t bloodthirsty or evil; her tribe the most peaceful of the three. However, the Warmother was simply a child. A fearful, pressured and paranoid child, who was forced to pull her own mother’s heart out while she was under mind control. The Avarosan all forgave her, but she never forgave herself. Anyone who even tries to show up to the Avarosan is often dead, left in the wild in case the Warmother is feeling relaxed or dismembered if she’s slightly suspicious. It’s saddening, really, how big her responsibility is compared to how small she is.

As for the last sister…

Jeonghan’s ears pop. Hearing is his second sense to return. He still can’t move anything, but it seems the snow lodged in his ears has either fallen out or melted. Winds whip in his ear, a high pitched whistle that pierces through the air like a skewer ringing in his ears. Jeonghan can hear the soft mumbling of his rescuer now, although he can’t understand anything. From what he knows from the dream, Common is still spoken after five hundred years. It’s weirdly convenient, he muses, but Jeonghan won’t complain.

Jeonghan can taste and smell the air before he can see it, a taste similar to that of trying to lick a frozen pole. That is to say, impossible, as icy cold is all he can feel. Jeonghan’s eyelids flutter open gently, blinking snowflakes out of his vision before the light gray sky comes into view. Amongst the flat view, Jeonghan can see the vague outline of a human face, although it’s too blurry for him to make out anything. The figure turns around, face coming into view as Jeonghan’s breath hitches.

The stranger’s frame is drenched in ice-blue light, making him glow with a certain sense of etherealness. His features can only be described as beautiful, with cute heart-shaped lips and cat-like eyes. His face is perfectly shaped, beauty only marred by the gigantic scar drawn from the center of his forehead to his left cheekbone, right over his left eye. It’s a bruising crimson, a gigantic gash that can’t have been caused by normal means. Cat Eyes’ lip is set in a hard line, although his face seems to relax by a tiny fraction at Jeonghan waking up. Jeonghan’s eyes travel a little further down, finding that Cat Eyes only has a flimsy white silk shirt on. Somehow, he’s not freezing at all, which Jeonghan pettily wants to punch him for because that’s just unfair. Jeonghan blinks, trying to clear the black dots in his vision and focus. As he does, Jeonghan finally takes note of their surroundings which stream past in an icy blue blur. Jeonghan blinks again, trying to shift to see the scenery before Cat Eyes’ arms tighten around him, restricting movement.

“Sorry,” Cat Eyes whispers, “I just can’t multitask that well.” His voice is surprisingly deep, his chest rumbling at the sound. Jeonghan complies, trying to move as little as possible. He closes his eyes again, letting out a shaky exhale as they continue to whizz past the landscape. It’s strangely smooth as if Cat Eyes was skating on ice instead of running in the snow. The journey continues for a little while longer before Jeonghan feels Cat Eyes slow down. His eyelids flutter open again, and Jeonghan is greeted by Cat Eyes’ (unfairly pretty) side profile. Jisoo’s teasing smile resurfaces in Jeonghan’s mind and a grimace spreads along Jeonghan’s face. Jisoo, who left the dream before him. Disembodied voices were unfair like that.

“Halt! Who goes there?” a loud voice booms. Jeonghan winces at the loud sound, shifting ever so slightly in the arms of Cat Eyes.

“Moon Junhui,” Cat Eyes—Junhui, apparently—replies, “don’t tell the Mistress of this, Sicheng.”

Jeonghan shifts, peeking over his own arms to get a look at Sicheng. He meets Sicheng’s eyes in an instant, who raises an eyebrow at him before turning back to Junhui. Jeonghan’s cheeks flush red, wondering if something just transpired.

“Are you gonna keep him in your room?” Sicheng asks.

Junhui nods. “Yeah.”

Sicheng reaches over to pat Junhui’s shoulder, drawing Jeonghan’s attention there. Jeonghan’s eyes instantly widen, dropping his jaw open as he sees the fateful pink and blue diamond heart tattooed on Junhui’s arm. Jeonghan can hear keys jingling in the background, as well as the gentle click of a lock opening. It’s followed by the hollow creak of a gate opening before Junhui hitches him further up his arm and starts walking again.

“Why the sudden urge to shelter storm-dwellers, though? I thought you just went on a walk?” Sicheng’s voice returns momentarily. Jeonghan can hear a slight hesitancy to the question as if Sicheng wasn’t sure if asking was okay. Junhui doesn’t seem to mind or even notice. Instead, he swivels his head in both directions, as if searching for eavesdroppers.

“Look at his shoulder, Sicheng,” Junhui tells Sicheng after a while. Junhui shifts Jeonghan around, exposing his shoulder blade ever so slightly for Sicheng to take a peek. Jeonghan can’t see his face, but judging from his sharp inhale, he recognizes it.

“Didn’t Mistress say you were the only one with that birthmark?” Sicheng asks.

Junhui nods, hesitating as if he was trying his hardest to believe he was hallucinating the mark on Jeonghan’s mark. As if his ‘Mistress’ was right. Jeonghan hopes this Mistress is just as nice as Jisoo’s ‘Mistress’, but it doesn’t seem to be so.

“Something’s odd about this,” Junhui mumbles, “and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

_“What do you think Cheol’s doing while we’re… in a limbo?” Jisoo asks. Jeonghan turns to him, tearing his eyes from their sightseeing of Piltover. The in-between dream is always mundane, somewhat methodical of a break before the disembodied voice throws them headfirst into another tale of something important. They learn of all sorts of people and cultures, even meeting the poor unfortunate soul that is their unaging dream-walker. His name is Minghao, and Jeonghan can’t wait to wrap him into the tightest hug and pat his head. Stuck in Zaun, where his body just keeps decaying and forcing his consciousness to spend eternity in a state of dreaming until someone can save him._

_Really, Jeonghan pities him._

_But he’s also pissed at the disembodied voice for not showing a lick of Choi Seungcheol._

_“He’s probably thrown back into the world as another miserable soul,” Jeonghan sighs, “The voice did say they needed him to close some kind of portal, right?”_

_Jisoo nods, refocusing on the streets of Piltover before them. If one were to look hard enough, tilting their head and squinting and maybe zooming in a million times, one can see the dark undercity of Zaun beneath them. Terribly toxic, where the air is just a putrid smell of hate and chemicals, Zaunites have found a way to live in there, as quite the resilient bunch._

_“Do you think,” Jisoo asks, interrupting Jeonghan’s train of thought, “he’ll still remember us when he comes back? He’ll probably be reincarnated, right? No memories.”_

_Jeonghan bites his bottom lip. He looks up into the Piltover sky, where he knows the disembodied voice is watching them watch the Piltoverians, who are always trying to find a way to reach the sky to watch the clouds from a different perspective. It’s an odd cycle, really. His mind wanders to Seungcheol, the charming, sweet and world-weary boy he fell in love with… roughly one hundred and ninety-seven years ago._

_“Even if he doesn’t, we’ll remind him. I didn’t spend my entire life searching for his type to just waste that. Plus, after all the trouble to get you to acknowledge that those people are ridiculously good relationships? I’m not giving up now.”_

_Jisoo giggles, somehow managing to flutter Jeonghan’s heart even five hundred years later. Soulmates, he thinks. They must be. Soon after though, Jisoo’s lips thin, and his gaze becomes troubled once again._

_“What’s wrong, Soo-ah?”_

_Jisoo bites his bottom lip. “Should we?” he asks, voice small and hollow._

_Jeonghan frowns. “What do you mean?”_

_Jisoo is silent._

_The thing is, Jeonghan knows exactly what he means. He wondered that himself, argued with Jisoo about it about a million times, only to come up with the exact same answer every time. Jisoo doesn’t see it. Doesn’t see how Seungcheol’s world is lit up at the mere mention of Jisoo, at the mere thought of Jisoo. Doesn’t see how Seungcheol probably became a train wreck the moment he realizes he has to move on._

_Jisoo doesn’t realize the value of soulmates._

_“He deserves better,” Jisoo mumbles. Jeonghan sighs, reaching over to pull Jisoo into a hug._

_“You are the best, Soo-ah,” Jeonghan whispers into his hair. Jisoo averts his gaze, refusing to meet Jeonghan’s eyes. Jeonghan can tell he’s about to cry though. He always can. Really, it’s a curse._

_“You deserve better too, Hannie,” Jisoo whispers back._

_Jeonghan shakes his head. “There is no better than you, Soo-ah.”_

_“I’m not even your type.”_

_“Does it matter?”_

_Jisoo’s silent again. Jeonghan squeezes his shoulders, massaging the blades as he wishes Jisoo can see his value, his preciousness and how it doesn’t matter if he was forced to kill in his past life._

_He wishes Jisoo could see that he’s loved._

_Jeonghan wishes he can love Jisoo enough._


	2. Chapter 2: I was too immature (JN)

It’s somewhere in between paranoid terror and crushing alarm, to discover your whole life is a lie.

_Ungrateful._

As far as he can remember, Junhui grew up in the Frost Citadel, born of snow and ice in the folds of Mistress’s magic. His curious brown eyes and joyful demeanour had been noticed by anyone who saw him as a child before it was squashed by Mistress’s ‘chores’. He was always meant to be her warrior, her pet, her champion. The only true ice born warrior, marked by a little diamond heart that was the source of his magic. Junhui can count the days he can remember when he didn’t have dry blood stained on his body on two hands, always being sent on mission after mission to fulfill Mistress’s whim. His gut twisted with every guttural scream, but Junhui couldn’t have very well said no to someone he owed so much to.

Assassins forget almost every successful kill, yet every failure becomes a tattoo on their minds. The first time Junhui failed, limping home with a set of broken ribs and a wealthy family of Noxians settling a little further into the Freljord Mountains—too close for Mistress’s taste. She had taken his broken fourteen-year-old body to the depths of the Frost Citadel, lowering his mangled and struggling body under the waves of true ice. Junhui remembers his childhood as a broken tangent, punctuated by a scream that shattered every last good glint of happiness. True Ice to purify his weak soul, Mistress claimed, to get rid of the flaws.

_Ungrateful._

For the rest of Junhui’s life, it’s injections and ‘enhancements’, each odder than the rest, although the pain of the prickling needles has been reduced to a dull ache on his forearm. His breathing has turned deep and even, the cold sting of each serum of True Ice slowing his blood flow with each injection. His skin is a sickly shade of pale, icy veins pulsing a revolting teal that forces Junhui to hide them underneath the silky white fabric. His gloves restrict his ability to summon large structures of ice, to which Mistress sneers at him. It doesn’t matter though, for Junhui’s work is much more efficient now, much to Mistress’s delight.

So this is where he is now, his dark brown locks coated in light silver strands that resembled snow, while his eyes swirled with the colour of sky blue as he gazed at the stranger tucked on the fluffier side of his bed. The one privilege Mistress has at least allowed him were plushies, and that was how they filled up every inch and corner of the bed. They made for a great way to hide the boy amongst the sheets. He was skinny. Too skinny. Kun had helped Junhui nurse the mysterious man to a steady pulse, chasing away the hypothermia on his skin. On his shoulder rests the same mark that had tied Junhui to this cursed place, stirring some kind of pot of emotions in Junhui’s stomach, almost like whiplash. Fear, wonder, anger, curiosity, betrayal, anticipation.

Doubt.

Clarity.

_Ungrateful._

Junhui wonders what this stranger is like when he wakes up. His features are delicate, sharp and famished features that are adorned by a dim glow of light make him something akin to an angel. His lips were tinted blood-red, chapped and dry like they haven’t been moisturized in years. There was a sense of peace and sad wistfulness to his expression when he was awake, and Junhui will never forget the sad flicker of emotion that passed through his eyes when the stranger saw Junhui for the first time. Perhaps, Junhui reminds the stranger of someone he knew.

Junhui wonders and wonders and wonders, not noticing the world until he hears the telltale footsteps in front of his door. He jumped into action, covering the stranger in his blanket and tossing a plushie over him before rolling off the bed and snapping to attention as the door creaked open softly.

“Mistress.”

Mistress’s face greets his, her ever-present scowl a few shades darker as she stared at his crumpled bed.

“What did I say about making your bed, snowflake?” Mistress reprimands. Junhui fakes a sheepish expression as he ducks his head.

“‘If a creature does not even make his bed,’” Mistress starts, entering the room with her gentle and practiced grace. She moves like the harsh winter blizzard, yet with an aura of absolute confidence and punctuality as if her every movement is painstakingly carved out with an icicle. Junhui swallows nervously, hoping she will not question the barely noticeable lump on his bed. The stranger was too thin for his own good, yet it served well in this case.

_Ungrateful._

“‘It is not a creature worth our concern’,” Junhui finishes, practiced ease in his monotone voice. Mistress assumes all of his previous joy has been purged with the regular injections of True Ice, and Junhui is happy letting her think that. Mistress’s lips curl into a pleased smile, rigid and formal in nature, yet pleased nonetheless. Junhui strived to please others, no matter what form it took. He had too much to repay her, after all.

“Did you need anything, Mistress?” Junhui begins. He’s hesitant, for Mistress never likes to be rushed. This time, however, Mistress doesn’t seem to mind. Her eyes flicker around his room, lingering on the mountain of plushies on his bed. Junhui holds his breath, fully expecting her to discover the stranger with her psychic ability. Mistress finally looks away, a scowl on her face again.

“There seems to be another excavation on our mountains, snowflake,” Mistress begins, voice slipping back into a sweet tone. Junhui has long learned not to mistake it for genuine affection, through a story he rather not relive. Junhui nods.

“I shall take care of that within the week.”

Mistress smiles. It’s muted, the same sense of quiet pleasure as a cat watching a mouse helplessly squirm in its claws. Junhui has long strived to become the cat, yet he always ends up becoming the mouse. The mouse who’s simply a toy to the cat, owing its life to the cat that let it go after its fulfilled its own amusement. Mistress starts to leave, pausing for a moment at the door to look back at him.

“Be a dear,” Mistress calls back, “and tell that boy to bring up my tea.”

The door slams close. Junhui exhales slowly. He brings his hands up, watching the teal veins pulse in anger and fear. On one hand, he’s glad Mistress didn’t know about the stranger.

On the other hand…

“His name,” Junhui whispers softly, “is Yanan.”

_Ungrateful._

_Selfish._

“Junnie?” Yanan’s voice greets Junhui the moment he steps into the kitchen. Junhui smiles at him gently.

“Hi Yannie,” Junhui mewls. Yanan smiles at him, the small yet undeniably bright. Junhui’s eyes flicker across his pale and thin frame to the scar across his eye, matching the one Junhui got. A reminder of Junhui’s first failure. His last moment of humanity.

_Selfish._

“Is it tea time already?” Yanan asks. Junhui gives him a toothy grin and nods. He glides across the kitchen, snatching a packet of dried cyclamen petals. Behind him, Junhui can hear Yanan drop the kettle onto the stove before moving over to grab the packet from Junhui’s hand.

“This is my job Junnie,” Yanan reminds him gently. Junhui grimaces reminded of why Yanan was stuck in this cursed place in the first place. The scent of dried herbs and tundra plants fill the air, sharp and intoxicating, yet gentle and sweet at the same time. Junhui looks over at the little potted plants by the windowsill. Yanan’s touch on the growing herbs is apparent, even if he had no magic in his veins. Delicate, gentle, loving.

Just like him.

And Junhui was the one who took his chance at a happy life away.

_Selfish._

“Do you want a cookie?” Yanan asks as the kettle whistles softly. Junhui tears his eyes away from the flowering plants, returning to Yanan’s gentle expression. He bites his bottom lip, watching Yanan’s eyes flicker to them before thinning his own. They were plump, red and so, so tantalizing but—

Junhui sighs.

“I’m sorry,” Junhui whispers. Yanan’s smile falters for the slightest second.

“It’s not your fault.”

Junhui bites his bottom lip.

_Selfish._

And perhaps, Yanan is why he stays. Yanan, who is an innocent boy from the village who fell in love with the sorceress’s prized pet. Yanan, who refused to leave Junhui alone even as the icicles inside burst the seams of his body apart, scarring them both in unspeakable ways. Yanan, who Junhui loves so much, yet hurts so much at the same time.

Yanan, who doesn’t deserve any of this.

“It is my fault,” Junhui corrects him. Yanan eyes flicker with discord, but he’s silent as he turns away. The kettle whistles a shrill tune, like a flute that’s been punctured by too many holes. Once upon a time, Junhui’s and Yanan’s flute played a melody with perfect, beautiful clarity.

Now, it lays broken and unused, weak sound no longer able to take hold. They will never find their pitch again. Junhui remembers the vivid memory of True Ice blossoming under his skin as it takes over, mixing with the teal magic that coursed through his veins the first time he was injected. His body hadn’t taken it well, exploding in a million shards the first night he lost control. Mistress met Yanan that night, disapproval on her face as she told Junhui love is but a distraction for him. It turned on her in the end, his body pulsing true ice out in waves and destroying half of the Citadel before Yanan got to him. Mistress saw him as a precautionary measure after, allowing them to remain if Yanan came to work for her. It should have been a blessing. It was, for a while, before the guilt ate up too much of Junhui’s mind for him to think properly. His first failure was never the mission.

_Selfish._

Junhui watches Yanan prepare Mistress’s tray, snatching an ornate teacup from the cupboard before laying two biscuits onto a plate. He turns to Junhui.

“Can you take this up? I’m sure Mistress would prefer your face.”

Junhui’s face falls into soft sadness. “She doesn’t hate you specifically, y’know? She’s like that with everyone.”

Yanan’s smile doesn’t falter, not missing a beat as he hands Junhui the tray.

“Not you. You’re at least on her good side.”

And perhaps, Yanan is why Junhui must leave, if only he wasn’t so selfish.

_The twilight sky is a dark shade of absolute black, dotted by the warm flicker of red and orange of the festival’s lantern. A single snowflake drifts on the cold windy air of the Freljord landscape, nothing but a speckle of white in the canvas of red energy of the festival crowd._

_There is a boy standing in the middle of this crowd, a face lit up by the gentle glow of orange flames that licked the frozen air like a popsicle. The moon is a full circle in the sky, casting its gentle silver rays onto the boy’s face. He’s beautiful, without a doubt, underneath the drab hood he has pulled over his face. He’s standing in the middle of the narrow festival street, watching with rapt attention as a vendor hands a little child a cotton candy with a cute cat drawn on it. The world pulses once, twice, thrice, holding its breath as the snowflake slowly settles on the vendor’s nose. He blinks as the snow melts, finally taking notice of the heavy stare boring into him. A soft smile spreads across his face, a gentle bloom akin to a candle flickering back to life after it’s been blown. It’s the little moments, the vendor mouths at the boy in the crowd. The boy standing in the crowd grins back, gliding across the vendor towards the little stall. Whispers are exchanged, the giddy rush of comfort for two boys who found companionship in a place where neither thought was possible. One of them leans in closer, finger moving up to wipe cotton candy off of the other’s nose. The second boy holds his hand gingerly, pressing a soft kiss onto the finger pads as they stare at each other. Behind them, fireworks exploded in a fanciful burst, the perfect backdrop as the distance between these two boys closes, at long last._

_“When can I see you again?”_

_A soft smile. “Soon. The mission won’t take too long.”_

_Junhui remembers that night with perfect clarity._

_It was the night everything started to crumble._


	3. Chapter 3: I wanted to be your tomorrow so I have been living today (JH)

_“I guess I’m leaving in the morning,”_

_Jeonghan turns to Jisoo, who’s watching his sand-buried body slowly form in the Shuriman desert. Supposedly, they’ve been stuck in limbo for five hundred years, preserved like honey in the cold vacuum of space. Supposedly, it’s finally time for them to wake up if the forming body is any indication. Well, time for Jisoo to wake up, at least._

_“Do you think we can still meet in the dream?” Jisoo asks. Jeonghan purses his lips._

_“I don’t know,” Jeonghan responds, his voice small. A warm hand snakes around his shoulder with a reaffirming squeeze as Jisoo turns to meet his gaze. Jisoo smiles, gentle comfort in his gaze as Jisoo pats Jeonghan’s hair. There’s a certain hesitance to his touch, no longer the kind of trust Jeonghan has grown to crave even after so long. The kind of agreement that came with spending every moment together. It was foreign now, Jisoo’s touch._

_“It’ll only be for a little while.”_

_Pause._

_See, herein lies the problem. Jeonghan knows he’ll see Jisoo again. He knows that when he does, Jisoo will be just as beautiful, kind and gentle as now. He knows nothing will change between them, regardless of what happens._

_But still, something changed. Maybe it has something to do with the five hundred years they spent together, maybe it has something to do with the fact that both are going a little (very) stir-crazy, or maybe something else entirely._

_But really, Jeonghan knows it has to do with the gigantic unresolved issue between them._

_“What do you plan to tell Seungcheol?” Jeonghan asks, voice timid as he felt the last thread slowly fray. Jisoo’s hand falters, a grimace spreading across his features._

_“We talked about this, Hannie. He deserves to live without that burden.”_

_Jeonghan sighs. They sit in silence, staring at the constellations dotted along the midnight sky. Jeonghan wants to assume that a while ago, they were both thinking about how to respond or strike up another conversation. But he knows it’s just a tense silence, where they’re just wishing pivotal moments like these never had to come. That they can just ignore the inevitable. Maybe it came with the five hundred years of putting it off. Somehow, Jeonghan feels like it isn’t enough time._

_“Let’s break up,” Jeonghan announces. Jisoo’s still silent. Jeonghan turns to him, a renewed kind of determination in his eyes._

_“I’m sorry,” Jisoo mumbles, “that I couldn’t be enough.”_

_Jeonghan’s face softens into sadness._

_“You’re always enough for me. I just couldn’t show you that.”_

_Jisoo looks away. “Then why do you want him too?”_ _  
__Jeonghan swallows. He knows why, and he knows he’s absolutely selfish for it, but Jisoo’s the same. It tears him apart, how easily Jisoo can just ignore his own wants._

_“You want him too, y’know. I see it. Why don’t you wanna try again?”_

_Jisoo sighs. He still refuses to meet Jeonghan’s gaze, but Jeonghan has memorized his expression of quiet guilt._

_“He deserves better,” Jisoo mumbles, and that’s that._

_Jeonghan hesitates for another second, and his form starts to fade again, for the first time in five hundred years. Jisoo must be waking up, Jeonghan thinks. It’s too late._

_“I just wish,” Jeonghan croaks, not knowing when he started tearing up, “you could see that you can be selfish.”_

_Jisoo turns back one last time, eyes glassy with tears as his bottom lip quivers. His form flickers, fading in a shower of light as he mouths one last sentence._

_“I’m so sorry,” Jisoo whispers._

_And then, he disappears._

_Jeonghan breaks._

When he wakes up, Jeonghan meets eyes with two black, beady orbs. He flinches, eyes slowly focusing as he finds that he’s staring at a gigantic fluffy cat. One that is very much fake, thank Goddess, but still pretty creepy to wake up to. Jeonghan’s breath hitches as his dream flows back. It’s no longer The Dream, prophetic and descriptive, yet it brings the same kind of goosebumps to his skin. A memory. A dream. Both, yet neither at the same time.

To Jeonghan, it’s simply his worst mistake.

Jeonghan lets his surroundings seep in as he tries not to make movements. There’s a thick, fluffy blanket draped over him, warm and comfortable as it clung onto his lithe frame. The room smells bland, a scent of cleanliness and loneliness at the same time, one that became all too telling about the kind of person his rescuer might be. His eyes dart around, staring at the spiralling ice blue chandelier above his head, currently turned off. There’s a layer of soft, see-through fabric between him and the ceiling, a shade of white laced with swirling snowflake designs. It’s beautiful, Jeonghan notes. He lies there for another little while, before deciding that it is safe enough to sit up. Jeonghan takes in his surroundings, discovering a zoo of stuffed animals littered on the bed. He picks the nearest one up, finding a bunny with tattered fur. It is cold to touch, and upon further inspection, Jeonghan finds its entire backside covered in a soft layer of ice, with an icicle sticking out from its neck. A gruesome sight, Jeonghan muses, but a telling one nonetheless. The rest of the room is draped in the same white fabric and colour scheme, dotted with ice-blue ribbons and a simple birch desk. The window lets soft sunlight trickle in, reflecting off all of the ice that the room was made of. Jeonghan experimentally rests his hand on the ice, pleasantly surprised to find out that it’s the same temperature as normal walls. Odd, he thinks, but pleasant.

By the time Jeonghan has stood up and finished inspecting the room, the sun’s light is fully lighting up the room. He expects it to be blinding, yet he can spy the magic around the window frame, probably to moderate the sunlight. He walks over to it, experimentally tries to touch the air when he hears the door creak open. Jeonghan whirls around, heart pounding in fear, only to find Junhui instead.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Junhui sighs. Jeonghan’s still frozen, blinking tentatively as he watches Junhui carry a tray of something steamy in. Jeonghan eyes him warily as Junhui sets the tray down onto his desk, before noticing Jeonghan’s hesitant gaze. He smiles, showing all of his pearly whites. They’re normal and rectangular, which confuses Jeonghan. Junhui continues grinning.

“See? No fangs. I don’t bite,” Junhui smiles. Jeonghan blinks again, pursing his lips. He opens his mouth, surprising himself at how smooth his voice sounds.

“Who are you?” Jeonghan asks. Junhui’s eyes widen by a fraction, probably surprised at how mellow Jeonghan is, before settling back into passiveness. There’s a spark of passive mischief in his cat-like eyes, and Jeonghan hates the stinging reminder that squeezes his heart. His face is soft and gentle, not an inch of worry or guilt on his heart-shaped lips and Jeonghan wonders if this is what Jisoo would’ve looked like, had Jeonghan found a way to reassure him.

“I’m Moon Junhui, nice to meet you!” Junhui eagerly replies, his tone akin to childlike awe and Jeonghan’s heart melts at the sight. This, Jeonghan thinks with relief, is their difference. At least he has that to cling on, even if Junhui will become a constant reminder of a terrible ‘what-if?’

“I’m Jeonghan. Yoon Jeonghan,” Jeonghan finally replies. Junhui grins at him, spark in his eyes practically twinkling like a child who just received a toy for Wintersday. Cute, Jeonghan thinks. An endearing kind of cute. Jeonghan can’t imagine his heart racing for someone like Junhui, but his heart has been long taken by two other boys.

“Would you care for some porridge, Jeonghan-ssi?” Junhui mewls. Jeonghan smiles softly in return, slowly approaching. The porridge smells amazing, but Jeonghan hasn’t properly eaten in five hundred years, so anything is probably delicious.

“Please,” Jeonghan says gently, “call me hyung. I’m not that old.”

Junhui nods, backing up before pausing to think.

“How old are you, actually? I’m nineteen,” Junhui asks, and Jeonghan fights off a smirk. He picks up the spoon, scooping a spoonful of heaven into his mouth before glancing at Junhui.

“Five hundred and fifty, I think?”

Junhui’s jaw drops open. Jeonghan resists the urge to laugh.

“Is it the mark? Am I doing to live for five hundred years too? It must have been so lonely...” Junhui fires off at a million miles per hour. Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, his gaze flickering to the pink and blue heart on Junhui’s arm. He thinks for a moment, before shoving another spoon into his mouth.

“I had someone. A lover. He kept me company for the dream,” Jeonghan decides to say. Junhui meets him with an indecipherable gaze.

“‘Had’?” Junhui asks.

Jeonghan hesitates, he stares at his porridge, watching the lumps slowly clump together as the bowl cools. There are two particularly big lumps, floating side by side in an endless spin. Slowly, the heat falters, and the clumps drift apart. Jeonghan grimaces.

“Not everyone can stay in love,” Jeonghan mumbles, looking up to meet Junhui’s eyes, “Not even soulmates.”

Junhui is silent. His eyes tell a million stories at the same time, and Jeonghan thinks this isn’t something foreign to Junhui. His demeanour is odd, something between obvious and unreadable. There’s a hint of doubt in his gaze, but also sympathy and Jeonghan despises it.

“What happened?” Junhui finally asks, causing Jeonghan to sigh.

“How about this,” Jeonghan offers after he swallows another spoonful of porridge, “you tell me about this place, and I’ll tell you a little story.”

Jeonghan leaves Junhui to digest the situation for a while, tucking himself next to the bed and staring out the window. Junhui’s guard friend (Kun was it?) came by with a message from ‘Mistress’ earlier, and so Jeonghan has the room for himself once again. His thoughts wander, wondering how Wendy is doing now. She has an age charm in her blood, keeping her alive for as long as the mage children in Demacia were in need. Jeonghan thinks of that one brief glimpse into Jisoo’s life, and the endless memories the dream fished out of that place when they were young. Jisoo had friends, all mages who would one day become his comrades and rivals in a rat race for Demacia’s approval.

_Jisoo._

Jeonghan watches as his magic acts on its own, gathering in a ball of light as it glides down his arm. There’s a soft undercurrent of power that follows its wake as it hovers in front of Jeonghan’s face. Jeonghan reaches his hand up to touch it, separating the ball into smaller dashes of light as his touch makes contact. There’s a memory in his mind, of an endless and empty room, where five centuries’ worth of memories were held. The light’s touch on his arm stings like a sore thumb, something akin to loneliness on the pale skin. The light rests gently on his forearm, gentle pressure that Jeonghan had grown so accustomed to feeling.

A touch, he reminiscences, he’ll never get to feel again.

Jeonghan sighs, resting his head against the bed as he stares out the window. “Not everyone stays in love,” Jeonghan mumbles to himself, “Not even soulmates.”

The door softly creaks open. The ball of light vanishes, vanishing into thin air as Jeonghan snaps out of his daze. He ducks down, rolling under the bed as Junhui told him to do. Mistress is not to find out about Jeonghan, Junhui insisted. There was a sense of fear in his voice, yet the resentment Jeonghan had assumed to be there was absent. Whatever the case, Jeonghan decides to listen to Junhui, if only to give Junhui peace of mind. The door slowly closes with a soft click of the lock, sending chills down Jeonghan’s spine. He stays still, gathering magic on the tip of his finger in anticipation. Jeonghan eyes out the bottom of the bed, grateful for the thin layer of fabric between him and the rest of the room as he spies a pair of black boots walking into the room. The temperature drops, a kind of cold blooming in the air as Jeonghan sucks in a silent breath. The boots in front of his eyes finally pause in front of the bed, hesitating before a knee pops into view. Jeonghan holds his hand up, ready to fire. He was the Aspect of Light, after all, and that title can’t mean nothing. Jeongfhan will put up a good fight, whoever this is.

A face appears in view, and Jeonghan lets his magic gather into a physical ball as the peeker’s eyes widened into saucers.

“Wait!” it exclaims. Jeonghan frowns, but he at least holds the fire. Not-Mistress’s eyes quiver, biting his bottom lip before sighing in relief. Jeonghan rolls out from under the bed, meeting a tiny wide-eyed boy with a messy mop of mint green hair. He’s staring at Jeonghan with hesitation and awe at the same time, eyes flickering to his covered shoulder. The shirt Junhui gave Jeonghan was a wee bit too big, revealing his collarbones and the tiniest hint of his glowing mark for the world to see.

The world, of course, being this tiny boy.

Jeonghan hopes he isn’t the gossip type.

“Please don’t hurt me,” the boy starts stammering, “Junhui told Kun who was trying to have a moment with Sicheng so they told Xiaojun to tell Lucas to find Injun who’s the only one competent at shadow magic, but he was busy so I—”

“Please get to the point,” Jeonghan gently prompts. The boy flinches nonetheless, but his pupils have at least stopped shaking like a snowflake stuck between two blizzards. Jeonghan smiles softly at him, trying to ease the boy down as he raises his hands in surrender.

“I won’t hurt you,” Jeonghan says. The boy smiles shakily, before glancing at the door.

“I’m supposed to sneak you into the kitchen for Yanan and Xuanyi to work their herbal magic on you. Something about trying to ‘stuff you up like a roast’?”

Jeonghan chuckles at the indication, which eases the tension in the boy’s shoulder. Good.

“I assume everyone in this place knows about me except for your Mistress?” Jeonghan asks. The boy starts to nod, before hesitating and shaking his head instead.

“Most of the nicer house staff. Or, well, the human ones. The court will probably tattle, so I need to hide you with shadow magic,” the boy explains. Jeonghan nods, holding out his hand in front of the boy, who eyes it curiously before looking at Jeonghan. Jeonghan tries to manage a warmer smile.

“I’m Jeonghan,” he says. The boy grins, taking Jeonghan’s hand in understanding and shaking it gently.

“Chenle. Nice to meet you.”


	4. Chapter 4: I finally say these cliche words (JN)

_ Failure. _

The air is bitter and cold in the mountains, Junhui finds. His scarf whips in the wind, but it’s not like he needs it. To most, the ice is a needle, pricking their every sense to succumb to numbness. It traps, it breaks, it hurts, only aiming to break a person down to their worst. True Ice is the strongest form of it, taking over a person’s heart to judge if they’re even good enough to wield it. Junhui knows he doesn’t deserve the daggers of True Ice pressed against his hands. The ice in his veins hums in protest, travelling down his spine like a musician playing the xylophones. Junhui ignores them, intent on his watch as he spies the little settlement nestled in the mountains. He wonders why Mistress is so intent on ridding them, but he can’t protest.

After all, Mistress doesn’t accept failures.

Junhui has the scars to prove it.

_ Failure. _

Junhui leaps from his perch, bounding between spikes of ice and boulders to conceal his presence, ignoring the moon’s disappointed glance.  _ This is who I am _ , Junhui reminds himself,  _ Mistress’s lies or not _ . Kahei had promised to help him decipher his odd magic more when he comes back, but Junhui knows it will do no good. He’s trapped, a puppet on the invisible strands of guilt, debt and fear of Mistress’s whim. It strikes an odd chord in Junhui, somewhere deep inside of him. The part he locked away long ago, punctuated by Yanan’s cry of pain when Junhui first failed.

_ Failure. _

Junhui stabs two icicles in the settlement’s guard’s veins. Two strangled cries fill the night air, punctuated by Junhui’s swift shove to the floor. The sound is muffled as the ice spreads down their body, preserving the bodies to wake up in relative peace later, but Junhui’s learnt his icicles caused chronic pain. The dull kind of pain, Yanan tells him every time Junhui asks, that one gets from keeping a hand on a heating kettle for too long. Dull, yet barely noticeable.

Junhui glides through the encampment, eyes searching for the face of his target. He has but ten minutes to find his hostage before the bodies are noticed, ten to leave a message and another five to make it out. Jeonghan’s face of mild concern for Junhui’s condition flashes in front of him, one of someone who knew nothing of Junhui’s debt. Of why he needed to continue.

Junhui finds his target in a tent, looking over plans. Junhui eyes him warily from behind a stack of crates, just out of sight but enough to watch with a drawn breath as two people leave the tent. Junhui takes his opportunity, slipping into the tent and ducking behind a barrel. He’s tall and lanky, but flexible enough to fold himself into a ball. He summons up a shard of ice, watching the reflection of the other men leaving. Junhui tilts the shard, silently gasping as he finds a pair of sharp eyes staring right at him.

“You can come out, assassin. You are not the first to kill me.”

Junhui growls, summoning a shard of ice in his hand and launching it at the man. He dodges, rolling into the center of the tent as Junhui jumps into action, launching two more daggers at his foot. The man seems to expect it, jumping away from the daggers. He’s still not attacking, only circling Junhui with wary eyes. Junhui growls again, stomping his foot on the floor and chilling the tent to frozen ice, taking glee as the candles flicker into a wispy smoke. The man’s muscles flex under his fur cape, war paint on his face blood-red as he regarded Junhui with firmness in his eyes. He continues to hold, not wavering for a moment as Junhui’s eyes flash icy blue, bringing the temperature to unbearable. Junhui hisses.

“Who are you?” Junhui demands. The man grins.

“The hero to save the Frost Guard from the Witch’s gr—”

In an instant, Junhui was across the room, holding the man in a choke with one hand, a dagger against his temple in the other.

“Do not refer to Mistress in that way,” Junhui hisses. The man stares at him, somehow breathing normally before his face splits into a gleeful grin. Junhui’s face morphs into confusion, dropping his magic for a split second before relaxing his grip. The man growls, swinging up the punch Junhui. Reflex takes over as Junhui ducks and kicks the man’s groin, twisting his leg and dropping him onto the ground. The man grunts, yet his muscles simply flex again. Junhui growls, kicking his face to the side and hearing a sickening crack before growling again.

“Who. Are. You.”

The man’s neck snaps back into place, a low chuckle in his chest as Junhui watches with mild horror. He looks up, a bone-chilling grin on his face as he regards Junhui with a flicker of magic in his body. Slowly, his frost-covered lips mouth three words, all with childlike glee.

“Your worst nightmare.”

Junhui’s eyes widen, his legs kicking into motion as he flips out of the way of the man’s swing. He throws an icicle back, watching as it bounced off of the man’s skin like a ball against rubber. Junhui growls, ripping himself out of the tent as he watches the rest of the encampment stare at him with hollow, zombie-like eyes. He turns around, finding the man steps out of his tent.

“So this is the Witch’s prized assassin,” the man cackles, sending a chill down Junhui’s spine. He whirls around, meeting eyes with two black, hollow holes where his eyes should be. The man’s brow sets into a disappointed gaze, “I expected more.”

_ Failure. _

No.

Junhui growls, ripping his gloves off and watching them fly into the distance before turning to the man with absolute hatred in his eyes. He slams his hands onto the ground, ignoring the battle cry of the encampment as he squeezed out every last drop of magic his body can muster. The ground shook, vibrating as thick tendrils of magic exploded into the sky, solidifying as Ice took over everything. A guttural cry tears itself from Junhui’s throat, ripping through the sky as the True Ice in his veins rushes through his fingertips. Pain, like he’s never known, racks his body, but the sacrifice is worth it as the ice encompasses everything.

And everyone.

_ FAILURE. _

Junhui slips out of the camp in silence. He knows the true ice won’t melt, and that his mission is completed, however crude. Regardless, the man’s hollow eyes and unnerving grin remains a staple on his mind, as constant as bitter cold that comes in Freljord’s mountain winds. They say an assassin only remembers the moments when they failed, and Junhui is a living testament to that statement.

_ Failure. _

He prays Mistress will never find out.

_ Murderer. _

“You okay?”

Junhui looks up from his cup of tea. The steam is cradling his face, a thin layer of hot condensation. The cup is covered in a thin layer of ice to cool, the hot liquid a clear shade of ochre. Junhui was staring at it, watching his own reflection on the tea’s glossy water surface. Staring. Thinking. Regretting.

_ Murderer. _

“I’m fine, Kun. Just got back from a mission,” Junhui mumbles. Kun’s leaning against the doorframe, arm crossed and an expression that screamed sarcasm and ‘yeah right’. He’s not in his uniform, so Junhui assumes he’s off duty. Of course, that begs the question.

“Why’re you here?” Junhui asks. Kun sighs, walking over and ruffles Jun’s hair gently. His other hand picks up Junhui’s teaspoon and scoops a spoonful of sugar and pours it in, reminding Junhui to stop drinking it so bitterly.

“You’re too quiet today,” Kun begins, walking over to the cabinet to get a teacup, “I wanted to check in with you.” 

_ Murderer. _

Junhui hums a half-hearted note of acknowledgement, staring at the dissolving sugar in his cup. The grains are thoroughly soaked, like a snowflake drenched in mud. It’s trapped now, its lifespan slowly shrivelling up without escape. At least Junhui got to see the outside world, no matter how brief. Most of the house staff is stuck here, an endless cycle to protect the Mistress of Freljord’s magic. A sacred duty, Kahei tells him. A suffocating curse, Chenle tells him.

“Why do you stay here, hyung?” Junhui asks. Kun’s soft chuckle is his answer, along with the sound of herbal tea being poured into a mug, decorated with wonky owls and cute hand-drawn snowflakes. Junhui remembers Renjun and Chenle staying up late for a week to paint the entire nice half of the house staff cute little mugs with Freljord’s animal spirits. Junhui had nearly broken down in tears when Renjun gave him his, the picture of a white and blue cat made of ice. Junhui doesn’t know what he did to be included on the ‘nice’ side of the staff, but somehow it was enough. He remembers helping Chenle with his shadow magic, when they were trying to sneak paints into his and Renjun’s room. In the end, Junhui just put them in a bag and strolled past all of the ice guards Mistress stationed everywhere to watch them. They didn’t even glance their frozen eyeballs at Junhui.

_ Murderer. _

“Can’t a guy get a cup of tea and check up on his friend when he wants to?” Kun grins at Junhui. He slides next to Junhui nudging at Junhui’s own cup. Junhui stares at him, but he complies and takes a sip regardless. Junhui knows the others regard him as a friend, as someone they can relax with, yet he doesn’t know if he quite deserves that sentiment.

“That’s not what I meant,” Junhui says. Kun smiles sympathetically at him, bringing his cup to his lips. Junhui watches as Kun takes a sip, makes a face at how bitter Junhui makes his tea before scooping several spoons of sugar into his cup. He gently sets his cup down, meeting Junhui’s gaze again.

“I can’t very well just leave the others, Junhui. You should know. You’re basically the same,” Kun smiles softly. Junhui returns the sentiment, trying to look a little more cheerful. He’s tired, exhaustion seeping through his skin like a flood drowning a pitiful rag, and Junhui knows Kun sees it. Kahei dropped by earlier, giving him a good job pat on the back before leaving with her own mug of tea. Junhui pretends not to notice the bag of sugar she brought with her. She was silent the entire time, ever the silent brand of comfort Junhui’s greeted post-mission. It’s like she can sense it. He thinks of Renjun and Chenle, going for a cookie run just a few minutes before Kun arrives. They gave him boundless energy, planning to go sledding in the courtyard tomorrow. They loved his ice slide, after all.

_ Friend. _

_ Murderer _ .

“Your guest has quite an interesting story,” Kun breaks the silence. Junhui hums in agreement, watching as something akin to pity flashes through Kun’s eyes.

“500 years, waiting for someone on this side of the world,” Kun grimaces, “I feel bad for him.”  
Junhui manages a soft hum. He stretches over the table, spreading like a lazy cat as he eyes Kun with a cat-like smile.

“Careful, Mistress might hear your sympathy,” Junhui teases. Kun chuckles, finishing his cup of tea before tapping his finger on Junhui’s own.

“Careful,” Kun gives Junhui a teasing smile, “Yanan might smell your concoction of death.” Junhui sticks his tongue at Kun, to which Kun just rolls his eyes at and stands up. He sets his mug by the rack of the other dishes for Yanan to clean later, starting to leave the kitchen. Junhui watches him with rapt attention, more out of boredom than anything. It’s moments like these, he thinks, when Junhui can just pretend he’s just a normal nineteen-year-old trapped in a big, beautiful ice palace.

Moments when he can pretend he doesn’t have the blood of countless on his hand.

_ Murderer. _

Junhui remembers his first kill. He remembers the first rush of adrenaline in his ears, punctuated by an anguished scream as Junhui froze his victim from inside out. He remembers their bloodshot eyes, their dried, frozen lips and their stabbing pleas of mercy.

The pleas.

_ Murderer. Murderer. Murderer. _

Junhui clenches his teeth, feeling the ever-familiar surge of regret and pain mixed in with numbness spread along his veins, a prickling needle that stabbed every fibre of his being. It’s suffocating, the way his body shakes with guilt, every new body on his conscious like an ice pick digging into his heart.

_ Murderer. Murderer. Murderer. _

_ MURDERER. _

“Breathe, Huihui” Kun’s voice breaks through the middle of it and Junhui collapses. He collapses and breaks, as he does way too often. He remembers the first few times when he’d run into the village and find Yanan, who rubbed a soothing hand on his back with a gentle caress Junhui knew he didn’t deserve. He remembers the middle few, when Yanan was first yanked into this life against his will, when he would just be another body on Junhui’s conscience. Junhui remembers Kahei finding him one night, huddled in the darkest corner of the citadel. Renjun had pulled the shadows over him, shielding Junhui in his breakdown, a haze of navy blue that Junhui can just imagine the dried blood on and—

“Breathe, Huihui,” a new voice breaks in. Junhui cracks open an eye, greeted by Xuanyi’s gentle smile. She’s calm, so calm as her magic seeps into Junhui’s arm, soothing calmness to the spikes of guilt digging into Junhui. He stops shaking, pulled under Xuanyi’s emotional magic as his heartbeat finally calms down, the vivid images of blood gone from his head.

And somehow, they remain nonetheless.

They always do.

_ Murderer. _

Junhui looks around. He can see Kun there, as well as Xuanyi, of course, who’s rubbing gentle circles into his arm. However, what really caught his attention was the other boy, who stood between the dangling strands of herbs in the kitchen with an expression of mild concern… and painful familiarity at the same time.

Junhui wonders if Jeonghan had ever seen a murderer break before.

“You said you wanted to know of my world, right?” Junhui says, voice shaky and spiteful, yet he doesn’t know who he hates more. Mistress for putting him in this situation, or himself, for never having the courage to say no.

He can’t say no.

Junhui ignores himself, staring right into Jeonghan’s eyes as the other gives him a hesitant nod. Junhui chokes, no longer shaking as crystalline tears roll down his cheeks.

“Well, welcome to our world.”


	5. Chapter 5: It’s for our memories (JH)

The citadel’s staff, as Jeonghan finds out, is every bit as mature as a bunch of children. He watches Renjun and Chenle slide down the ice slide in the middle of the courtyard, a tall statue of ice. Apparently, their Mistress is out on some kind of trip, leaving the citadel in her chamberlain’s control. Jeonghan thinks he saw Yanan holding a handful of dried leaves when he came to join the fun, and Jeonghan can only assume their cruel chamberlain is taking a nap somewhere. Jeonghan hopes he wakes up with a crick in his neck.

Jeonghan watches Renjun and Chenle squeal as they slide down the swirling tower of ice, echoes of joy in a palace so normally on edge. Junhui has Kahei wrapped in a bear hold, tackling her down the slide as her shrieks echo along with the stone and ice walls. Jeonghan finds a smile cracks on his lips as he watches the pair tumble down, spying Xuanyi giving him a knowing smile.

_ Join us, _ she mouths, and Jeonghan can only shake his head. If the others are caught, they will simply face some scoff or small scolding. Jeonghan, on the other hand, can’t be seen by their Mistress. If Junhui’s stories are anything to live by, that is.

Xuanyi shakes her head at him, catching Junhui’s attention as he spies Jeonghan gazing at them from the second-floor balcony. The air is cold, yet a pleasant kind of warm at the same time. There’s a soft flurry over the citadel, coating the harsh and sharp ice in a layer of softness. Optimistic, in a way. To see past the hard edges.

Before Jeonghan can realize it, Junhui has slid next to him. Kahei has been left at the mercy of Yanan and Xuanyi, from what Jeonghan can see. There’s a relaxed smile on his face, a contrast to the terrible mess Jeonghan saw him as yesterday. It reminds him of Jisoo, the troubled and bloodshot eyes, the crystalline tears in his eyes dry as he told Jeonghan to get away from him. The fits don’t come often, lessening the longer their minds stayed in the Dream, yet each one was just as painful as the last. Jeonghan remembers the tears, the screams and the shaking body in his arms, every frayed strand of self-control breaking, never quite fully healing.

Junhui, on the other hand, broke like a glass vase, yet everyone around him pieced him back together every time. Jeonghan watched Xuanyi extend her magic to Junhui, swirling mist that calmed him down as Kun whispered comforts for Junhui, and Jeonghan wished he can do a fraction of what they did. Jeonghan saw Renjun and Chenle, who knew exactly what to say to cheer Junhui up, taking his mind away from the blood, and Jeonghan wished he could do half of what they did. Jeonghan sees Kahei now, knowing exactly what  _ not  _ to say.

Somehow, Jeonghan wishes he can do what she does.

“Missing someone?” Junhui tries to guess. His voice is sweet and happy, the cat-like smile on his face in full bloom as the soft breeze ruffles his shirt and hair. He’s perched on an outcrop of artificial ice, elbows on the canister with his face in his hands and Jeonghan can only see Jisoo in that same position, looking up from Jeonghan’s lap. It strikes a chord in Jeonghan, a melody somewhere between wistful and regretful.

“Not really,” Jeonghan replies curtly. Junhui frowns, eyes darting as if searching for something in Jeonghan’s eyes. Then, Junhui sighs. He grabs onto the railing, swinging himself over to land next to Jeonghan. He lets the ice shrink away, immediately whirling to Jeonghan as soon as he’s done.

“Tell me about them,” Junhui prompts, nudging Jeonghan’s shoulder gently. Jeonghan rolls his eyes, not fighting the fond smile that blooms on his face at Junhui’s antics. It’s no wonder the rest of the world is so infatuated with him.

“Which one first?” Jeonghan asks. Junhui hums in thought, redirecting his gaze to the ice slides, where Xuanyi has managed to drag Kahei to the top of the slide for what Jeonghan thinks to be the world’s most dangerous game of trust fall. There’s a net down below, from what Jeonghan can see, but Kahei can’t see that. The citadel has an odd way of making people loosen up.

“How about Seungcheol? He seems to be the cause of all your problems,” Junhui suggests. Jeonghan winces at his blunt description, bringing up the memory of warm eyes and a cocky grin that Jeonghan always knew he’s weak for.

“We saw him again,” Jeonghan begins, biting his bottom lip, “but not directly. Watched him and a legion of Noxian soldiers close the portal to the World Beyond. Watched him trek through the desolate Freljordian mountains to find a new sword after his son broke in battle. Watched him break and live but not being able to do anything, behind the Dream’s projection.”

Junhui glances at him with concern. There’s a lace of bitterness in Jeonghan’s voice, but it was overshadowed by the wistful crack in his voice. Jeonghan presses on.

“He’s the kindest soul you’ll ever meet,” Jeonghan says, trying to stop himself from reliving the memory. It’s not a sad one, per se, but Jeonghan can only remember it with a strong sense of ‘what if?’, and it hurts him in places he didn’t want to poke on again.  _ Guilty _ , Jisoo called the feeling,  _ the need to do something to try and help. _ Jeonghan is nothing but guilty.

“He has a dragon spirit,” Jeonghan continues, “named Nayoung. Saves him more times than not, even if she seems to take glee in the way Seungcheol becomes exasperated trying to give her orders. She’s every shred of his logical brain, don’t trust the guy.”

Junhui cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

“He tried to sacrifice his life to save a family of red-tailed cat spirits,” Jeonghan chuckles, not thinking about the way Seungcheol had looked into the sky like he was imagining Jisoo with the cats, “said they felt familiar.” Junhui’s lips twitch into a soft smile.

“Did he?” Junhui asks. Jeonghan smiles.

“Of course he did,” Jeonghan answers.

Junhui giggles a little, hands starting to twirl as misty ice magic enveloped his palms. A tiny ice sculpture bloomed in his palms, one of two red-tailed cat spirits with a dragon surrounding them, all lying on the ground. As if, Jeonghan notes with a sad pang, they were happy and content with the world just in each other’s embrace.

Content.

Jeonghan couldn’t be content with Jisoo, and he paid the price for it.

“What about Jisoo,” Junhui asks, covering one of the cats in mist.

Jeonghan bites his bottom lip, looking away and towards the ice slide in the courtyard instead.

“You and Soo are really similar, y’know?” Jeonghan says with a hollow voice. He can practically see Junhui frown without turning his head.

“He’s haemokinestetic,” Jeonghan explains, hearing a soft ‘oh’ from Junhui. He grimaces. Jisoo is more than just that. Jeonghan spent five hundred years trying to tell him that.

“When the guilt of murdering and watching murder isn’t not eating him up, he’s the fiercest guardian I’ve ever met,” Jeonghan says, knowing that he’s a million miles away. He wonders how Jisoo must be doing, trekking through the desolate sands of Shurima in search of their fire guy.

“Even more than Seungcheol?” Junhui asks, snapping Jeonghan back to reality. The air is now cold on his skin, a slight bite to what used to be a gentle touch.  _ Relive the good moments of your life, _ Jeonghan always told Jisoo,  _ not the bad parts _ .

How ironic.

“Even more than Seungcheol,” Jeonghan smiles sadly. Jisoo and Seungcheol were always there for him. He just can’t return the sentiment.

“He was ready to strangle an entire nation once,” Jeonghan recalls a memory of a long-ago Dream. Junhui actually snorts at this one.

“What happened?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “They tried to kill a family of red-tailed cat spirits.”

A giggle tumbles out from Junhui, punctuated only by the sound of laughter echoing from the courtyard. Jeonghan wonders when their Mistress will return, restoring the Citadel to the cold, desolate place it always seems to be. Kahei told Jeonghan that wasn’t always the case, as life can be found even in the darkest of corners. Afterall, Runneterra was but a speckle of light in the world of darkness it could have been. What were the chances of life, she says.

What are the chances of life, indeed.

“Where are you taking me?” Jeonghan whispers at the shadows around him. A face pops up in the darkness, Renjun’s soft features peeking through the magic curtain.

“The Howling Abyss,” Renjun says matter-of-factly, as if that name means anything to Jeonghan, before popping out. Junhui pats his shoulder gently, walking forwards to keep up with the shadow magic veil that hid them from the world. On the outside, Jeonghan can see a gigantic cavern, rigged rock faces lined with streams of ice along its line. They’re on a large stone bridge, empty and devoid of life on its cold exterior. Below, a gigantic frozen lake hums a creepy buzz of power, as if it was some kind of monster biding its time under the frozen waves. A chill runs down Jeonghan’s spine, as if someone is running their fingers on his back. Jeonghan ignores the gnawing feeling of alarm, convinced that Renjun and Junhui won’t go at such lengths to harm him.

“We’re going to Kahei’s place,” Junhui explains. Jeonghan frowns. He always assumed Kahei lived in the Citadel, but apparently not. Something darts past his eyes, a blur of motion that makes Jeonghan suck in a breath. He looks again, finding that it was simply a bat, eyes watching his every movement. The entire ceiling was filled with tiny little furry creatures, eyes following Jeonghan under the shadow veil.

“Isn’t this supposed to hide us?” Jeonghan whispers to Junhui. Junhui shakes his head.

“Bats sense by sound. We’re making enough sounds for them to hear us,” Junhui explains. Jeonghan frowns.

“Isn’t that bad?”

Junhui shrugs. “Not really? Kahei’s pets won’t bite you unless you piss her off.” Junhui suddenly pauses, as if contemplating something important. Jeonghan frowns.

“What?” Jeonghan asks.

“Don’t piss her off,” Junhui replies curtly. Before Jeonghan can question it any further, the layer of shadow magic around him drops, the cavern suddenly too bright for his taste. Jeonghan blinks, adjusting his eyes as he finally notices a small hut, sitting right in the middle of the bridge. There’s a bright beacon on top of it, like a lighthouse in the middle of a dark storm. Not a single bat can be found on the roof, but Jeonghan can see a few hanging from the underside of the ice and stone soffit. Kahei stands in the doorway, expecting smile on her face as Junhui 

“Kahei!” Junhui exclaims cheerfully, wrapping Kahei in a hug. Kahei laughs, returning the hug with a gentle squeeze as she looks around to find Renjun. Failing, she frowns.

“Never stays for tea, that one,” Kahei says with a tsk. Jeonghan chuckles, stepping into the house. There are minimal decorations on the walls, save for the gigantic brown fluffy rug on the floor. He can smell the scent of tea boiling in the background, seeing it moments later on the little stove tucked in the back. Herbs dangle from the ceiling, along with various vials of multi-coloured vials. A bed is tucked in the far corner of the house, next to a large desk with a bunch of scrolls strewn about. A quill lies on top of one, dripping ink into a dark spot onto one of the pages.

“Do you even clean, Enchantress?” Junhui teases, making Kahei scowls.

“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, waving her hand to dim the glowing stone hanging above her study. Kahei walks over to the stove, picking her kettle up to pour the trio some tea. She dumps a heavy helping of sugar into two, handing one of them to Jeonghan and leaving one for herself. Junhui grabs the last one, sitting on her small table as he takes a sip. An annoyed line spreads on his face.

“This is so sweet,” Junhui complains. Jeonghan takes a sip of his (already heavily sugared) tea, finding it just a tiny bit bitter and looks at Junhui with mild fear. Kahei simply rolls her eyes.

“Not everyone likes rancidity, Junhui,” Kahei says. Jeonghan chuckles. They chat for a little longer, about anything and everything. There’s a sense of relaxation between Kahei and Junhui as if they were siblings. From what Jeonghan has heard, they were both orphans their Mistress found one snow covered night. Eventually, they fall into silence, cups empty and conversation topics void. Junhui is the one to break the silence.

“Did you find what I asked for?” Junhui asks. Kahei nods, mouth set into a grim line.

“Goddess is difficult to contact, but I learnt a few things.”

Jeonghan frowns. “Learned what?”

Junhui sighs. He leans back on his chair, fiddling with his teacup and refusing to meet Jeonghan’s eyes.

“On my last mission,” Junhui finally begins, voice small, “I didn’t quite succeed.”

Kahei rested a hand over Junhui’s knees, patting it comfortingly. Junhui gives her a small smile.

“They weren’t human. My targets, I mean. Some kind of cross between zombie and frost giant. Doesn’t bleed, doesn’t break, doesn’t even feel pain,” Junhui recounts, a faraway troubled look in his eyes. Jeonghan frowns.

“How?” Jeonghan asks. Kahei clears her throat.

“I can answer this one. Best I can guess, they’re spirits of vengeance. Undying souls who can never rest until it enacts vengeance, or learns to forgive. They’re still able to sidetrack, do things outside of their main goal but the vengeance is always on their mind. Kalista, the spirit of vengeance, fuels their fire of artificial life. True Ice will keep them at bay for now, but I don’t know how long it’ll hold,” Kahei explains.

Jeonghan grimaces. “That’s not good.”

Junhui sighs, rolling his head backwards. “They’re probably here for me. I recognized some of the faces from my missions.”

Kahei shakes her head. “Your scarf prevents them from seeing a face. They’ll be here for Mistress.”

Jeonghan frowns. “Doesn’t that mean you’ll be forced to defend her?”

Junhui is silent. Kahei nods.

“We’ll have to keep them away from the Watcher, at least. If the lake breaks, our world will not exist for much longer,” Junhui rationalizes, looking at Kahei. She nods again, while Jeonghan’s eyes flash with recognition.

“What watchers?” he asks, excited to finally get some answers. Kahei shakes her head gently.

“The Watchers, capital W. They’re spirits of chaos, banished to the shadow realms that surround the world of Runeterra. They don’t exist in the same plane as us and were never supposed to find us,” Kahei explains.

“What happened?” Jeonghan asks. Junhui sighs.

“Five hundred and twenty years ago, a rift appeared. It echoed throughout Runeterra, sending the world into chaos,” Junhui begins. Jeonghan nods. He knows this part. Seen glimpses of it.

“This one guy, I don’t remember his name, united Noxus, Shurima and Demacia under one banner to destroy the threat. He was an old soldier in the Noxian army, disappeared for some time and started one of the bloodiest rebellions in Demacia. They didn’t win, sure, but at least the rift was sealed, locked in magic so ancient it’ll never open, nor close. The guy disappeared after that, and the nations gradually separated again.” Junhui continues. Jeonghan winces, remembering the tension of the alliance that could never last. It did its purpose, at least.

“Up here in the Frelijord,” Junhui gestures his hand around vaguely, “we had a sorceress. Sealed our section of the rift under True Ice, built a citadel next to it and kept almost everyone away.”

Jeonghan hums, pausing for a few seconds before realizing what Junhui meant.

“Your Mistress?” He guesses. Kahei nods again. A bit of a bobblehead, that one.

“So these spirits of vengeance can be the one to unleash hell on this world again?” Jeonghan deduces. Kahei doesn’t nod this time, only biting her lip. Jeonghan knows he’s right. 

“Well that,” Jeonghan says before sighing, “doesn’t sound good.”


	6. Chapter 6: I wasn’t sure, I couldn’t tell you (JN)

“Welcome to the Abyss,” Kahei mumbles. Junhui looks away from his careful steps to snort at her. Kahei rolls her eyes, gesturing for him to continue. Junhui shakes his head, placing one careful foot after the other on a crumbling stone step. The side of the cave’s cliff is moulded into a once-beautiful staircase, adorn with floating lights to guide travellers onto the frozen lake. Over time, the Watcher’s magic leaked through the True Ice, vibrating like an earthquake every so often as it shook the rocky face of the cliff. Now, the stone laid strewn out and about, more of a roadblock than aid in some sections. Junhui’s ice provides a sort of scaffolding for him and Kahei, who’s trying to steady herself with one arm. Her other hand clutches onto a sheet of paper, riddled with scribbles and notes of cracks along the smooth surface of the lake. The True Ice in Junhui’s vein hums at the proximity to its comrade, dancing with power as they slowly descend.

_ Longing. _

“How many today?” Junhui asks. Kahei grunts as she drops down two broken steps at the same time, nearly slipping as Junhui steadies her. She shoots him a grateful smile, even though she can save herself.

“Just one,” Kahei answers. She scans her map, squinting as her finger points to the center of the lake, just under her floating house above the lake. Junhui sighs, gathering energy in his hand as he flicks an icy slide from their position to the center. The ice materializes with his gesture, a sound akin to an unsheathing sword ringing in the air along with Kahei’s sigh.

“Save your energy, Huihui,” Kahei says, exasperated. Junhui shoots her a grin, completely ignoring her.

“You’re just jealous you can’t do this.”

_ Longing. _

Kahei scowls, sticking her tongue out at him as they start sliding down the slide. Junhui wonders if it affects her more than she lets on. Kahei was Mistress’s champion before Junhui. He was always just the killer. Just the mysterious shadow that hung over a victim’s last living moment. It was always Kahei who represented Mistress in the village, took Mistress’s orders to the Troll King, commanded Mistress’s army of frost giants when another barbaric tribe tried to invade. A personal slave, they used to joke about her position. Kahei had wielded the name of ‘The Champion of True Ice’ before Junhui had, striking a chord of respect throughout the region. Well, what little of the region Junhui had seen.

“You suit the title, Huihui,” Kahei commented after a while. Junhui hums disconnectedly. He thinks about his failure. His reinventing self. His magic surfacing in the worst way possible. True Ice usually strengthened people with just a little dosage, its magic dripping out of them after initial contact, yet it stayed a constant blockage in Junhui’s blood. His mark hums with content every few injections, a world of guilt and fear twisting a knot in Junhui’s stomach. It didn’t help that the supposedly pure ice was coated in a thin layer of invisible blood on Junhui’s hand.

_ Longing. _

“Don’t break on me, Huihui. Xuanyi isn’t here right now,” Kahei gently whispers. Junhui sighs, staring straight ahead. The watcher’s magic is a dull hum in his mind, a pull to power Junhui wishes he didn’t crave. Freedom, love, comfort. Kahei tells him of how tempting it is, and why she keeps a necklace of true ice on her neck. The pain against her skin is a reminder to stay on this site every day. Junhui wonders how she stays sane, listening to the drone every day. There’s a scar on her collarbone, red and angry under the scarf she uses to hide it. A reminder of her humanity, Kahei claims. Junhui bites his bottom lip as he glances at her. He wishes he could do more for their Enchantress, aid her in her eternal duty to watch the Watchers, in a nice touch of irony. Instead, he took her only freedom, stealing her place as Mistress’s champion. It was a chore, she told him. It still allowed her a life.

“Let’s just fix the crack. Mistress wanted to speak to me,” Junhui mumbles, more to himself than anything.

_ Longing. _

The throne room is every bit as cold as Mistress’s touch. Junhui had an immunity to the cold, a gift that came with the ice coursing in his veins. Still, a chill drummed down his spine every step in the horrid palace. Kahei once commanded the ice spirits that watched the castle’s interior. There was a time, Junhui muses when his life was less controlled. Less watched. The guards then brought a sense of safety and comfort. Now, they pierced their hollow gazes through Junhui. His face remains expressionless, hands neatly tucked behind his back as his boots click rhythmically on the floor. His shirt is a frail white on his skinny frame, clinging to his skin as the lack of wind in the throne room. Ice ran in columns and twisting coils around the throne room, a harsh squeeze along a once clear and pure wall. Xuanyi, the eldest in the castle, tells him of a time when the palace was brimming with light and life. Mistress was always busy trying to find a way to secure the Abyss, and the previous chamberlain took utmost care in the palace. Apparently, the previous chamberlain hadn’t quite approved of the one they have now. Junhui doesn’t approve of the icy statue Mistress elected for them either.

_ Selfish. _

“Junhui,” Mistress’s toneless voice calls out. Junhui locks eyes with her, face ever the image of a serene lake as he bows. His body folded, stopping at exactly 90 degrees as his hands dropped to his side. Out of the corner of his eyes, Junhui can see Mistress sitting atop her icy throne, regal and imposing with her crossed legs and permanent scowl. Junhui rarely sees her smile, and never has he seen the smile be one of genuine emotion. Always hiding beneath some kind of mask. Similar to a beautiful mask, Chenle often told Junhui, beautiful but scary.

“You called, Mistress,” Junhui answered. Mistress doesn’t nod. She doesn’t even shift, although Junhui can make out the elation in her eyes as she watches Junhui’s inferior position. A sadist, Renjun calls her. A tyrant, Kun corrects him. Slowly, her eyes flash with disappointment. Junhui gulps silently, wondering what has happened now.

_ Selfish. _

“I have raised you. I have educated you, taught you, pulled you above the crowd of mundane inferiors. You know this,” Mistress begins. Her voice is loud and booming, but as silent as the wind in an assassin's swift dagger, tightening Junhui’s throat like a rope.

“I know this,” Junhui echoes, like a robot. Mistress doesn’t waver.

_ Selfish. _

“You also know,” Mistress continues, anger creeping into her voice, “that I do not accept failure. Especially when one tries to cover up the failure.”

Junhui freezes, eyes twitching as he bites his bottom lip silently. He wishes he can even say that there are words stuck in his throat, just waiting to rebut, but no words can even form. Mistress tsks with anger.

“They were immortal,” Junhui mutters under his breath. Mistress immediately stood up, whatever stray wind in the room freezing as her glare hardens.

_ Selfish. _

“There is no excuse!” she growls. Junhui flinches, feeling his hands shake as he quickly drops to a kneel. He can imagine Yanan trying to calm his shaking limbs, wiping away the crystal tears forming in the corner of Junhui’s eyes. Xuanyi’s gentle magic lulls his thoughts to a standstill, the charms on his gloves slowly glowing to life on the inside, seeping into Junhui’s skin. Renjun and Chenle’s voice urges him, on the other hand, telling him to stand up for himself, but they don’t understand.

They’ve never felt failure.

_ Selfish. _

“I gave you your life,” Mistress hisses, “and your one price is to protect this citadel. And you fail, slipping back and hiding your mistake!” Mistress booms, slowly descending to Junhui’s kneeled figure. She raises her hand, a rush of air ruffling Junhui’s hair as he bites on his bottom lip.

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” Junhui whispers, voice but a broken fragment. Tears stream down his cheeks in fear. He is foolish to assume Mistress won’t find out. Foolish to assume his temporary solution satisfies her. It matters not that they are immortal. It is all an excuse, and Junhui is foolish to give up at that.

_ Selfish. _

“Sorry isn’t enough, snowflake,” Mistress hisses, bringing her hand down. A loud slap echoes the room, stinging red pain on Junhui’s left cheek as he feels his blood revolt. Junhui’s mind flashes with his past failure, how he simply laid down and let Mistress take over. Over fear for himself. There’s so much more fear now, of what Mistress could do to the people Junhui held so close to his heart. Mistress saw almost everything, and surely Junhui’s affection for his friends would not go unnoticed.

“I heard that Renjun and Chenle have taken a liking to eavesdrop,” Mistress booms loudly, smiling as she looks around the room. Junhui sucks in a shaky breath.

“Perhaps, she smiles sadistically, “it’s time I tell them off?”

_ Selfish. _

Junhui shakes, not able to move. He prays they can slip out quietly, although he knows the fear is trapping them too.

“Or maybe I should find Xuanyi. She’s always filling your head with ridiculous fantasies. I wonder if she would appreciate one of my own creations. Never seen enough blood, that weakling,” Mistress drawls, curling her sharp icy nails around Junhui’s chin and lifting his face up. Blood trickles at her point of contact, but the fear roots Junhui in place as his eyes fog up with tears. Still, Junhui stays silent.

_ Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. _

“Perhaps I’ll even pay a visit to my old champion,” Mistress smiles condescendingly, “remind her of what happens to those who fail me. I’m sure she’ll pass the message on.”

A silent scream lodges itself in Junhui’s throat. Kahei’s soft smile appears in his mind, so full of life and vibrancy in its muted nature. Junhui begs Mistress to stop in his mind, quiet pleas of ‘please’ tumbling out between his chapped lips. They called him the ice assassin in the region, emotionless and heartless. Junhui’s mind laughs at the truth.

_ Selfishselfishselfishselfishsel— _

“Or maybe that precious boy you held so close?” Mistress asks, malicious intent in her eyes, “The one you try so hard to keep a distance from? I can remind him of the kindness I spared him in spite of your failure.”

Junhui bites his cheek to stop a cry from coming out.

_ SELFISH. _

“Please,” he begs, voice quivering, “don’t.”

“‘Please don’t’,” Mistress mocks, “Pathetic.” She throws Junhui to the floor, slashing her nails against his throat. Blood oozes out of the wound, staining the pristine white shirt on Junhui’s chest as it clung onto his chest. Junhui’s breathing turns ragged, a pant that wasn’t quite a pant echoed in his chest, short and shallow puffs of air fogging in the cold air. His mark grows painful on his arm, a sharp pain that echoes down his arm as ice unwillingly builds on his fingertips. Mistress walks over to him, gripping his gloves and pulling them off in one swift motion, tearing the first gift he ever received into shreds. Xuanyi’s magic hums low as the marks fizzle and explodes, destroying the fragile cloth. Mistress scowls at the pile of ashes in her hands, flicking it into the air as she returns her attention to Junhui. The ice crown atop her black hair gleams like an incoming avalanche, a big blue jewel in the middle swirling with magic as Mistress’s form is drowned in white mist. Ten daggers form in the midst of it, each as sharp as the angry scowl and glare on her face as she pointed to Junhui.

“I suppose one scar was not enough for you to remember,” Mistress growls, sending the daggers towards Junhui.

Suddenly a bright flash of light erupts in the room, blinding as it reflects off of the ice. The world descends into slow motion, the dagger’s sharp points all aimed for Junhui’s chest as a tiny pocket of magic flies across the room. It stops barely in front of Junhui as he raises his arm and turns away from the daggers. A barrier of light explodes in front of him, a soft cream screen that exploded as the ten daggers came into contact with it. The sheer force of it knocks Junhui backwards, the air ringing with Mistress’s shriek as she is knocked over. Two pairs of arms loop under him, hoisting Junhui up as a dark shadow envelops him. The blood at his throat continues to trickle, dancing spots in his vision as Junhui goes limp with pain. His emotions are raging now, no magic to keep it in check as images of  _ that night _ resurfacing in his mind. The chain that Junhui kept on the memory shakes with force, building up with every broken sob that tumbles out of Junhui. Out of the corner of his blurred vision, Junhui can see a single face, radiating with light as concern paints the figure’s gentle feature.

“Hang in there Junhui,” Jeonghan’s voice found Junhui’s ears, past all of the ringing white noise. Past the fear of what Mistress is about to do. Of what she almost did to him.

_ Selfish. _

“You look like an angel,” Junhui croaks. His voice is gargled with blood, probably dribbling down his chin as Junhui’s eyes remain glassy. His throat aches, a sharp pain that Junhui welcomes. It’s a contrast to the dull pain he causes others, somehow refreshing on his skin. It burns, Junhui thinks.

It burns, and it heals at the same time.

“Hang in there,” Jeonghan mutters. It’s the last thing Junhui registers.

_ Selfish… _


	7. Chapter 7: I ended up not saying thank you (JH)

In all fairness, Jeonghan was panicking.

He didn’t mean to lock up their most powerful asset in an apparent incoming invasion in her own throne room, it just kind of… happened. She was trying to kill Junhui, after all! Their second most powerful asset, and the much more pleasant of the two.

Which, really, isn’t too high of a bar, but Junhui passes nonetheless.

“How long do we have with those light walls of yours?” Xuanyi’s voice snaps Jeonghan out of his daze. Jeonghan shrugs, tearing his eyes away from the mangled body in front of him. There’s so much blood over Junhui’s… everything, Jeonghan can’t even discern his face. It strikes a painful chord in Jeonghan, the striking resemblance between him and Jisoo. His mouth hangs slightly agape as if the words were held frozen in his throat before Junhui passed out. Jeonghan bites his lip, wondering what might have happened if Renjun and Chenle could have found him a little earlier.  
“Technically forever, but she’ll be wearing them down, I’m sure. I’ll give us seven hours, tops,” Jeonghan answers. Xuanyi sighs, looking to the rest of the room. Renjun and Chenle are huddled in the corner, whispering and glancing at the glowing blue mark on Junhui’s shoulder and Jeonghan’s own cream one. Yanan reaches over and rests a hand on Renjun’s shoulder, whispering something in their ear to make them stop. Kahei sat closest to Junhui, wrapping some kind of herb around the gaping wound in his neck. Jeonghan cringed as Junhui twitched at the contact. Kun leaned against the wall a little further from the bed, Sicheng sitting by his calves and looking up like a lost puppy. There’s a pang in Jeonghan’s chest at the sight of all of Junhui’s friends and found family, watching over him and trying to ignore the looming threat of death over their head. There are more guards in the citadel, Xuanyi told Jeonghan earlier. Human guards, all some form of teenagers and young adults. They won’t go down without a fight.

Jeonghan wished they didn’t have to fight.

Sighing, Jeonghan stands up with a huff. All eyes in the room turn to him, somewhat of a mix between confusion, expectation and surprise. He meets their eyes, before giving Junhui one last glance. He would give his life to protect his family. He almost did, in fact. Junhui is so inexplicably similar to Jisoo, the same vein of trauma that plagues their mind. Beautiful, loving, caring, self-sacrificial. Never a leader, but never a bloodthirsty monster. Jeonghan bites his bottom lip.

“Junhui is a guardian,” Jeonghan found himself starting, “and he would stop at nothing to protect you guys.”

Jeonghan pauses, watching the rest of the room spare a quick glance at Junhui’s frail body. Then, he claps his hand together, expression morphing into quiet determination.

“Perhaps it’s time we return that favour.”

“There they are,” Jeonghan whispers. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Renjun stiffen. The air is cold, the telltale sight of an incoming blizzard from the mountains sucking up the wind. Bitter cold pricks Jeonghan’s skin, a kind of cold he can never really get used to. Such was the Freljord, according to Jeonghan’s experience. Below them, on the vast fields of snow and ice, a small group of defenders stood. Magic enveloped their form, tiny wisps of faint energy around their form. Under normal circumstances, Xuanyi told Jeonghan earlier, Mistress would have her army of frost giants and trolls, called from the neighbouring regions. Chenle and Kahei were sent to get them, although Jeonghan isn’t sure the lack of threat from their Mistress would affect their mission. Xuanyi reassured him that Kahei would be enough, smile able to sway everyone in this half of the world. Jeonghan prays it is enough.

On the horizon, Jeonghan can see the outline of an avalanche incoming. Kahei had told them the spirits can take the form of an avalanche for travelling purposes, and Jeonghan can only gulp at the sight. Renjun takes a deep breath next to him, slowly raising his hand.

“Just stick to the plan,” Renjun mumbles, more to himself than to Jeonghan, “and you’ll be fine.”

Immediately, a waterfall of dark shadows roar the side of the castle, spilling down its side and covering their fighters in a layer of black mist. They dissapear from vision in a blink, although Jeonghan can see the faintest outline of their footprints in the snow. The battle will cover up their tracks soon enough, if Xuanyi is correct. Emotional stability of the citadel, she calls herself. Scarily smart, Junhui described her.

“Your turn,” Renjun mumbles. Jeonghan nods, not sparing Renjun a glance as his mark glows like a firefly. Pin pricks spread down his arms, gathering in his palms. Jeonghan grinds his teeth, building up the magic as he watches two groups collide. Light erupted from the sky as Jeonghan forced his magic into the air. Piercing arrows flew down from the sky, pinning down the first few rows of spirits. They don’t die, everybody knows. They can, however, respect power. Jeonghan prays their display is somehow enough to postpone the spirit’s thirst for power, if only until they can find a solution. A monstrous roar strikes through the crowd, vibrating like a drum beat through the ground. The spirits all turn to look up, tiny misty forms still discernible to Jeonghan even from this distance. He snarls, a glint in his eyes that invites a challenge, and Jeonghan only sneers in return.

“Good luck,” Renjun tells him. Jeonghan nods, stepping onto the ledge. He takes a deep breath, before jumping off and summoning a wave of light under his feet. Shadows cloud his form, Renjun’s aid apparent as the spirits whirl back and forth to try to find him. Jeonghan ducks under a wild axe swing, tucked into a roll as he spots Sicheng fighting two spirits at once. His magic is subtle, a soft light emitting on his skin that gave him the ability to lift two burly spirits the weight of three couches and throw them into another. Jeonghan dashes between swings, forging his magic into dual swords as he sliced a spirit in half. They lay on the ground, pieces vibrating as it slowly inched towards one another. Jeonghan widens his eyes in realization, extending his magic out into a cage and locking the pieces up. They groan and fight his magic, but they can’t destroy light. Nothing can.

_ Kun! _ Jeonghan shouts in his mind, looking around to find Jun’s caretaker. Kun’s telepathy is their only form of communication here, where the spirits surely have enhanced hearing. A body is shoved against his back, slowly sliding to a halt as Jeonghan hears Kun’s heavy breathing.

_ Did you see it?  _ Jeonghan asks, throwing a light shield to block one of theirs from a hit. Kunhang, if Jeonghan remembers correctly. Superspeed.

_ I saw it alright. Everyone! Don’t let them regenerate! _ Kun shouts in Jeonghan’s skull, vibrating like a siren. Jeonghan watches as the rest of the group register the order, starting to cull through their numbers. They’re approaching the citadel now, a little too close for comfort. Jeonghan watches a flash of red lightning flash by his eyes, turning to find a smoking spirit about to ambush him. He traps the spirits, giving his saviour a grateful smile. It’s a boy, about Renjun’s age. Yangyang. Chaos magic.

_ Go for their leader!  _ A voice echoes in Jeonghan’s head. Jeonghan turns around, starting to forge a path through the crowd before a large teal outline of a hammer slams into the ground, vibrating like an earthquake. Jeonghan doesn’t even need to look. Meiqi. Astral projections. Hammers were her personal favourite, according to Xuanyi. Jeonghan slides under a stray spear, a glint of gold catching his eye. It’s a staff, a long rod of wood with gold leafs encrusted on the side. There’s a gem, glinting in the light as its magic vibrates down the staff’s handle, light cream colour that calls out to Jeonghan like a lighthouse in a storm. Jeonghan glances at his path, knowing he only has one choice. The battle, or this mysterious staff. Suddenly, time halts to a stop. There’s a figure in the winds, an incredibly faint yet unignorable face turning to meet Jeonghan’s eyes. Jeonghan gasps, eyes widening as he watches a hand reach out for the staff, hurling it towards him before darkness swallows the figure again.

“Seungcheol!” Jeonghan screams, but no words come out. A faint smile appears in the shadow, dissipating like a hallucination as Jeonghan looks around to find it again. The world starts moving again, and Jeonghan finds himself stuck between the choice once again, as if whatever hallucination never happened. As if he never saw that tuft of brown hair and encouraging smile he craved for five hundred years.

_ Jeonghan!  _ Kun’s voice echoes in his telepathy, shaking Jeonghan out of his stupor. Right in time too, as a figure approaches him. With a start, Jeonghan realizes the shadow magic has dropped, and they’re left exposed. Jeonghan ducks under the swing, sprinting as fast as he can. The figure growls, a monstrous scream echoing through the sky as Jeonghan recognizes a shard of ice impaled in his right chest. This is their leader. The same one Junhui failed to kill. Jeonghan grits his teeth, blocking his attack with a shield of light as the force hurtles him backwards. A scream tears itself from the battle, a shrill sound that could only belong to Xuanyi as Jeonghan heard her calling out his name.

Jeonghan whips his head around in the explosion, trying to aim himself towards the staff. He lands on the ground with a harsh thump, cracking his ribs and oozing fluid out from his body. Jeonghan feels the taste of copper on his tongue, but there’s a wistful smell with the blood. Something akin to the strawberry Jisoo’s hair always smelt like, and the bitter taste of regret. Jeonghan heaves himself up, pushing with his elbow to prop himself up. Suddenly, a sharp pain vibrates through his body, trapping his calf into the white snow and pushing him back down Jeonghan. A scream builds in his throat, but all that comes out is blood, and Jeonghan’s breathing turns choked and ragged. He lies on the snowbank, fingertip just barely out of reach of the staff as he feels his leg scream in pain. The spirit’s footsteps race towards him, and Jeonghan knows it’s too late.

_ You still owe me an answer,  _ Seungcheol’s voice echoes in the wind. Jeonghan’s tears prick the corner of his eyes as he hears his name and Renjun’s being shouted over the battlefield. The world bleeps out, nothing but a drone of background noise as Jeonghan tries to fumble his fingertip towards the staff. His vision blurs, spots dancing as Jeonghan grits his teeth. There’s an image in his head, of a life that could’ve been. He’s finally grown old, sitting on a vast meadow of strawberries. There’s two boys by his side, sleeping peacefully and Jeonghan can taste the tantalizing dream.

_ The life that could’ve been _ .

“You’ll get your answer later, pretty boy,” Jeonghan mutters, his voice broken and pain stricken. There’s so much pain echoing in his body, something akin to taking a bath in acid and then getting a massage with spikes, but Jeonghan knows he can’t just very well give up. The footsteps draw closer, each thump on the snow drawing Jeonghan closer to his end.

“I owe you that much,” Jeonghan finally whispers, extending his magic out in tiny tendrils to secure a hold on the staff. It responds immediately, humming to life as it rolled into Jeonghan’s hand. The moment it made contact, renewed energy drums down Jeonghan’s body. Jeonghan forces himself to flip, watching as the spirit draws closer. Gritting his teeth, Jeonghan points the staff to the sky, screaming as he forces out every last ounce of magic in his body into the sky. A rain of arrows rain down from above, piercing through the clouds like angels descending. The scream vibrates through his skull as the spirits are cut down, one by one until there’s nothing but a pile of shaking body parts on the ground. They will gather soon enough, but Jeonghan hopes he at least bought some time for them. There’s a thunderstorm of noises around him, the telling sound of reinforcements coming too late in his ears. The axe in his leg is yanked out as Jeonghan’s vision blurrily rolls to the sight of a figure with an axe in its hand. He raises it over his head, a snarl on his face and Jeonghan closes his eyes once again. There’s no point now. He did his best. The axe is raised high over Jeonghan, poised and ready to swing. The staff is heavy in Jeonghan’s hand, yet light at the same time. Its magic molds with his own, like a dance of magic. It’s comforting, the rush of heat and energy in Jeonghan’s body. Too late, the magic. Too early, his end.

_ I’m sorry, Cheol-ah.  _ Jeonghan thinks to himself.  _ I’m sorry I couldn’t give you an answer. _

There’s an image in his head. Three boys sat under the stars. They’re laughing, shoving and teasing each other. One of them gets tackled to the ground, another playfully pinning him down. The third watches, perfectly content as he leans over to kiss one of the others’ foreheads.

_ The life that should’ve been. _

_ I’m sorry, Soo-ah,  _ Jeonghan thinks bitterly,  _ for never telling you enough. _

And then, the axe came down.

_ The life that will be. _


	8. Chapter 8: You are the only one in my heart (JN)

It’s eerily silent when Junhui wakes up. He flutters his eyes open gently, finding the icy ceiling of the citadel the only thing in view. The stone pillars that held up the room held no lit torches on their side, the only light source coming from the cold blue hue of the sky outside. Junhui propped himself up, wincing when he felt his bandages. He looks down, lightly touching his palm on his side to feel for blood, only to find flickering blue runes drawn on his skin instead. Xuanyi’s runes, to be exact. It explains why he's so calm. It explains why the voices were so quiet in his dream

Suddenly, a loud crack vibrates in the air, startling Junhui. He whips his head towards the window, squinting when an onslaught of bright sunlight comes into view. Junhui blinks twice, letting his eyes adjust. He finds Renjun, brow knitted in concentration as a waterfall of black mist envelopes his form. Junhui stands up and walks over to the window for a better view, stumbling on his first few steps. Junhui reaches for the table with all of Xuanyi’s medicine, fumbling before he grasps a tiny shard of True Ice, wrapped in a tiny pouch. With shaking hands, Junhui picks up the shard, feeling its magic come in contact with his own magic. With gritted teeth, Junhui stabs it into his forearm, biting back a scream as the ice seeps in. In the blink of an eye, it disappears, healing the incision on Junhui’s arm as he slowly heaves deep breath. His vision fogs, a familiar tint of ice blue covering the edges before the True Ice fully melts into his body.

_ Welcome back, puppet. _ The voice hums in Junhui’s mind.

Junhui looks out the window, gripping the edge of the windowsill as he takes one final deep breath. A glance to the left tells him the invasion has begun. He can’t make out anything at this distance, but the familiar dashes of colour tells Junhui his found family is putting up quite the fight. Shadow magic covered the battle, a shroud of black that surely belongs to Renjun. Yangyang’s red lightning ripples through the fight like a current of electricity in a bowl of water. Junhui can make out the vague outline of a teal hammer, culling through the herd like a mean child with a bat destroying a piñata. Meiqi really has too much fun with that.

_What kind of a guardian are you?_ The voice returns, whispering into Junhui’s brain. Junhui frowns, wincing as he feels the familiar prick of guilt on his nerves. A stray spear flies from the battle, up towards Renjun and Junhui can only open his mouth in a silent scream. Renjun sees it though, sidestepping the attack when a spirit materializes next to him. Junhui grits his teeth, jumping onto the windowsill and launching himself out of the window. Renjun is punched in the gut, not seeing the spirit as his small body slams into the wall behind him. Junhui’s vision turns red, anger flooding his brain as he summons a barrage of icicles and fires them at the spirit. The spirit whirls around, his spectral axe colliding with most of Junhui’s attack. There’s a shard of True Ice in his chest, as well as an ugly face Junhui never thought he’d see again. Junhui lands on the side of the citadel, ducking under an axe swing as he swings an uppercut into the spirit. He stumbles momentarily, before his eyes sharpen with a murderous glint.  
“There you are,” the spirit says, smiling psychotically. Junhui grits his teeth, wary as they start to circle one another.

“Leave him alone,” Junhui hisses. The spirit laughs.

“And he speaks! Such heroics…” The man snarls, before his eyes narrow into a glare, “...for the sword of the Sorceress.”

Without another glance, the spirit turns around and runs towards Renjun. Junhui widens his eyes, flinging ice across the stone path before running towards Renjun too. There’s blood trickling down the corner of Renjun’s mouth, his eyes shut in pain. Junhui traps the spirit’s feet in ice, hoping to momentarily delay him as he drops into a slide. Ice blooms under his feet, sliding Junhui under the spirit’s leg as the spirit bellows an ear-splitting howl. Junhui ignores him, encasing Renjun in a thin layer of ice where Junhui can find immediate wounds so he doesn’t bleed out. Then, he turns to the spirit and glares.

“Leave him alone!” Junhui shouts.

The spirit hesitates for a moment, glancing back at the battlefield for a moment before turning around to face Junhui.

“A guardian, you claim?” The spirit laughs. He holds his axe up in one hand, poised and ready to throw as he pulls out another one behind his back. Junhui stays alert, ready to block the thrown axe. The spirit angles his other axe at the battle field, and Junhui spares a fraction of a second to glance downwards. He stifles a gasp, finding Jeonghan trapped in some kind of hallucination, staring into the blank air.

“Tell me guardian,” the spirit bellows, a malicious grin on his face, “who is more important to you?”

Junhui glares at the spirit. “Don’t you dare.”

The spirit ignores him. “The one you call family,” he continues.

“No!” Junhui yells. Ice pooling at his hand to intercept the shot. He can block both, Junhui realizes, if he times it correctly. But that’s only if the spirit doesn’t know this.

“Or the one you know is more important?” The spirit cackles. He heaves both axes at the same time, causing Junhui to react immediately as he surrounds the spirit in ice. The spirit stops at the very last second, turning and hurling both axes at Renjun, breaking through Junhui’s ice before leaping over the ice wall down to the battle. Junhui yelps, pulling Renjun down to the ground as he summons ice on his hands and turns towards the axes. He grabs the blades with his protected hand, but the sheer force of the throw slams him through the citadel wall. The air is knocked out of Junhui’s lungs, his body vibrating as he slams through the second citadel wall. He plants his feet onto the ground, sliding back as he pools ice magic in his arms. With one final cry, Junhui stops the axe with two blocks of ice, on the other side of the citadel guard tower. He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t pause any longer before sprinting back to Renjun.

“Injunnie? Can you hear me?” Junhui asks frantically. There’s no response from the limp body, but Junhui can feel a faint pulse in the boy’s body. Junhui glances at the battle field, finding Jeonghan struggling on the ground, a pool of blood under him. Junhui curses, despair setting him as he realizes that he failed.

_ What kind of guardian are you? _ The voice in his head taunts.

Junhui stands up, jumping off of the ledge and down towards Jeonghan, but he’s much too late. The spirit is next to him now, about to strike the final blow with one of the spirit’s comrade’s axes. Junhui’s too far. He won’t make it.

Suddenly, Jeonghan throws his arm into the sky, a staff in hand as a brilliant beacon of light pierces the sky. A rain of arrows made of light rains down from above, striking down almost everyone. Junhui widens his eyes, turning to find the rest of his friends scrambling for cover.

“On me!” Junhui yells, dropping down and summoning a roof of ice over their head. The others converge, a few spirits chasing after them as they join Junhui. With a battle cry, Xuanyi pushes them out with a piercing screech as she slams her magic into the ground.

“You want to tap-dance!” Xuanyi yells, making the spirits pause in confusion, enhanced by Xuanyi’s magic. Junhui grins, watching as their bodies get pierced by the light arrows. Meiqi reaches her hand out and extends her magic out, trapping the severed limbs in cages of teal magic. Junhui turns to Jeonghan, ready to congratulate him when he finds the spirit’s leader still standing, murderous intent in his eyes as he picks the light arrows out from his body.

“What the—” Yangyang begins.

“Language,” Kun interrupts. Junhui doesn’t pay attention to them, starting to run towards Jeonghan. Once again, he’s too far and too slow, just out of reach one more time.

_ What kind of guardian are you? _ The voice in his head mocks.

The axe comes down. Jeonghan closes his eyes. Junhui opens his mouth in one final cry.

Too late. Too far. Too useless.

_ Failure _ .

“Wait!” a voice calls out, moments before the axe collides. Junhui skids to a halt, watching as the spirit flinches too. A figure pops out from the shadow, a familiar mop of mint-green hair coming into view as Junhui’s eyes flick with recognition.

Chenle gulps. “Surely you’re not going to kill him just like that, right?” Chenle begins, voice shaking. The spirit frowns. Junhui does too, but he stays silent.

“What do you mean?” the spirit demands. Chenle glances at Junhui, a quiet determination in his eyes that tells Junhui to stand back.

“Well, you guys are Freljordian warriors, are you not? Warriors never end their opponents with such an easy kill, no?” Chenle continues, voice more steady as he gains a flicker of confidence. The spirit cocks his head in thought, stroking his beard.

“That is true,” the spirits ponder, “but what does that have to do with anything?”

Chenle grins, straightening. “We were going to fetch the Troll King for you to battle, for that would be a true equal match of strength, but he unfortunately can’t come. Instead, we have a sort of replacement.”

The spirit turns to Junhui, giving him a onceover before bursting into laughter. “This weakling? He’ll never match my power!”

Junhui doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Chenle shakes his head, grin widening. Junhui looks behind him, watching as Kahei steps out of the shadow. Her combat dress flows behind her, flickering in the wind. Pastel pink frills ruffle in the cold wind, but Kahei doesn’t so much as flinch as she walks towards Junhui.

“What the hell is he doing?” Junhui whispers. Kahei doesn’t answer, just smiling as she puts her forefinger to her lip.

“Just watch,” Kahei whispers back.

“No one here can match your power, sir,” Chenle explains, “but true warriors must be able to excel in many areas, no?”

The spirit grins. “What kind of competition do you propose? I can beat you in anything.”

Chenle grins. “How good are you at ale pong, sir?”

Junhui doesn’t quite know why the spirits decide to agree to their terms, but the competition is happening now, and he’s not entirely sure how it happened.

“Here ye, here ye, ladies, gentlemen and everyone in between,” Chenle’s voice calls out. Junhui stares at the cup of ale in front of him, not entirely listening to Chenle. He’s explaining the rules, right now, standing in the middle of the citadel’s banquet hall. The torches around him cast a friendly sort of atmosphere, but the tension is palpable in the air. Junhui gulps silently.

“Both parties will take one swig of ale from our concoction of Freljord’s strongest—and nastiest—ale, before picking up this ball,” Chenle grabs a tiny ball from the table, a stone from the end of one of the spirit’s broken sword, and shows it to the rest of the crowd. They nod along, hollering and cheering for the two parties. Junhui gulps, not entirely sure how to react.

Really, he’s not entirely sure of anything. Neither is the voice in his head, it seems, for it is completely quiet. Confused, probably. So is Junhui.

“They will try their best to throw the ball into one of these three cups. For time constraints,” Chenle pauses, glancing at the doorway. Jeonghan said that the light barrier is still up, and that Mistress won’t come anytime soon, but Junhui knows it won’t last.

“The first person to land a ball into the cups wins!” Chenle finishes enthusiastically. He turns to Junhui, the excited and jovial glint in his eye doing wonders to hide the nervousness in his tone. Junhui gives him a reassuring smile. He’s never been the best at ale pong, compared to the others in the citadel, but the spirit had been adamant about him being the one to fight. The term is being used very loosely, thank Goddess. The crowd cheers, hollering and booing the other competitor for some light hearted fun. It’s strange really, how they were just about killing each other earlier. 

“Now, who would like to go first?” Chenle asks. Junhui sucks in a deep breath, faking a confident smile as he meets the spirit’s eyes. Bob, he called himself. Junhui doesn’t question the odd name.

“Guests first,” he announces, met with rowdy cheers as Bob simply smiles a toothy grin.

“Very well!” Bob booms. He picks up the mug, chugging it with alarming speed as the crowd chants some rowdy ‘chug!’s. Junhui watches in perpetual anxiety, but he doesn’t drop the mask of false confidence. Bob slams his cup down after a while, a nasty scowl on his face as he purses his lip. He shakes his head slowly lifting his head up. His eyes are out of focus, the ale settling in as he turns to Chenle.

“That is some fine ale,” Bob chuckles. Chenle grins back.

“We don’t settle for less,” he says back. Chenle doesn’t drink. Junhui chuckles internally. Bob finally picks up the ball, thinning his (very thick) lips in concentration, brow knitted together. The rest of the room draws a tense breath as they watch, a jovial atmosphere dissipating as Bob takes aim. He tests his shot once, rocking the ball back and forth before launching it. It soars over the air, the entire room watching its path with nervousness before it bounces on the edge of another cup, and down to the side. Junhui sighs in relief as the room erupted in cheers and cries of frustration, howling as Bob stumbles backwards. He shakes his head, looking over at Junhui with a puffed out chest.

“Your turn,” he bellows, face splitting into a smile. He’s not mad. Thank Goddess. Junhui stepped up to the table with no hesitation as he picks up the mug and drinks it all in one go. His brain screams at him, the taste of Yanan and Xuanyi’s masterpiece of a concoction dribbling down his toast. His sense goes numb at the invasion, his gut definitely not agreeing with the drink, but the room is egging him on and Junhui knows he doesn’t have a choice. Slamming the cup onto the table, Junhui finally exhales. His vision remains clear and acute, True Ice in his veins all rushing to his head as it numbs Junhui’s train of thought even further. Still, Junhui learned to operate without thought long ago. A mission is a mindless kill, after all.

With perfect precision, Junhui picks up the ball in his right hand, shooting Bob an easy smile as he effortlessly plops it into one of the cups. It lands without fanfare, but the rest of the room erupts anyway. Bob simply stares in shock. Slowly (and groggily) he kneels, resting his palm on the ground as Junhui flinches, confused.

“All hail the Champion of the ice,” Bob bellows. The other spirits take a bow and Junhui very clearly recognizes that this is not normal.

“All hail the Champion of the ice!” they shout with respect. Junhui stares at Kahei, but she’s trying not to burst into laughter.

_ What the fuck? _ The voice in his head comes back, and Junhui can feel his senses returning slowly. He tries to stifle a laugh, but a grin spreads out nonetheless.

“What is your secret, O great champion?” Bob bellows. Junhui winces from the loud sound, his sensitive ears now hearing everything. Junhui looks at Bob, simply shrugging as a sheepish smile blooms on his face.

“Ale Pong is a staple of Friday game night?” Junhui squeaks. The room is silent for a heartbeat, then two, then three. Then, Bob straightens up, face composed as he stares at Junhui.

“You have proven your strength!” he booms, “so we will not kill you.”

Junhui breathes a sigh of relief, his shoulder shagging as a world of tension snaps over him.

“But we must still have our revenge! Your sorceress must feel the pain of her loved ones being taken away from her! You are the closest thing we could have! We have reached a problem!”

Junhui bites his bottom lip, glancing at Kahei for help. She shrugs lightly, not knowing how to help. Suddenly, someone clears their throat in the crowd. Junhui whirls his head towards the sound, hope rising in his chest as he finds Jeonghan’s gentle smile.

“What are you seeking vengeance for? We can resolve it in a different way, perhaps?”

Bob hums in thought, stroking his beard as he crosses his arm.

“We are the fallen Avarosans from when your Sorceress unleashed the Watcher’s minions on us. We were separated from our families and loved ones, all for her own goal,” he explains. Jeonghan nods.

“So you wish to be reunited with them?”

Bob shakes his head. “Not in death. Not yet, at least.”

Jeonghan claps his hands together, a smile on his face as Junhui watches an idea form in his head.

“We could unite you while you are alive. A spirit of vengeance to defend the Avarosans from such an attack again, no? You’ll protect your kin for as long as they need it, until they join you in the afterlife,” Jeonghan explains. Junhui widens his eyes, realizing what Jeonghan means as a smile spreads on his face. Bob hums in agreement, but a frown takes over soon enough.

“But we must have vengeance. Your Sorceress must lose everything dear to her.”

Chenle pipes up. “It’s not like we’re dear enough to her anyways!”

Kahei clears her throat, grabbing everyone’s attention as she shyly smiles at Junhui.

“Then perhaps it’s time the Champion challenged Mistress for her throne.”


	9. Chapter 9: Will you hear my words? (JH)

“She’s quite the ferocious one, isn’t she?” Jeonghan mutters under his breath. In front of him, Kahei chuckles, turning around to roll her eyes at him.

“That,” Kahei smiles, “would be an understatement.”

They left the rowdy spirits behind with the other boys, finding them to be excellent partiers as Chenle leads them into a rather off-tune and loud rendition of ‘99 bottles of ale on the wall’. Jeonghan thought the kid would start drinking, of all things, but when he saw Yanan slip Chenle a glass of juice instead, all was okay. Xuanyi took Renjun to the infirmary to patch him up, wanting to check up on Jeonghan too as she left. Jeonghan had waved her away, assuring Xuanyi that he’s fine, whatever odd mark magic from the staff healing him in an instant. Xuanyi had looked at him curiously, but she’s been tending to Junhui’s wounds since forever, so surely it must not be a surprise at this point.

“Are you sure you don’t want our help?” Jeonghan asks Junhui. He’s leading the group through the citadel, although he’s taken so many wrong turns Jeonghan wonders if Junhui’s more nervous than he lets on. Junhui turns around to face Jeonghan, uncertainty in his eyes as he bites his bottom lip.

“I don’t want you guys to get hurt,” Junhui answers. Kahei smiles comfortingly at him.

“Jeonghan would totally whip your ass, Junnie, let him help.”

Jeonghan frowns. “What about you?”

Kahei shrugs. “I would too, I guess, but you guys could do it.”

“What am I, your punching bag?” Junhui deadpans. Kahei giggles, smacking his arm and prompting them to continue. Their light atmosphere is nice, albeit short-lived as they approach the throne room. Kahei’s the first to pause, hesitating as she sees their Mistress’s murderous glare through the light wall.

“Keep watch, okay? In case she does something freaky on this side of the wall,” Jeonghan suggests. Kahei glances at Junhui, unsure if she should. He nods, eliciting a sigh from Kahei as she gives Jeonghan a meek smile.

“Good luck,” she whispers, backing up to move away from the vicinity. Junhui turns to Jeonghan, gesturing for him to let them in. Jeonghan nods, raising his hand and pulling the translucent wall down on their side, allowing the pair to enter.

“You ready?” Jeonghan asks. Junhui nods, slowly steadying his nervous hands.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“So you’re the pesk who corrupted my snowflake,” the Mistress hisses when she sees Jeonghan, “was the first one not enough, Junhui?”

Junhui flinches at the bite, hesitating as he instinctively takes a step back. Jeonghan turns to him with a hard gaze. Slowly, Jeonghan shakes his head.

“Don’t listen to her,” Jeonghan whispers. Junhui nods tentatively. Then, Jeonghan turns back to their Mistress. Sorceress, Bob calls her. Witch is a more fitting term, in Jeonghan’s opinion.

“To be honest,” Jeonghan starts, levelling his gaze with the witch, “he did that on his own.”

The witch sneers at him. “You weren’t invited to this palace.”

“Prison,” Jeonghan corrected. The witch hisses again.

“I raised them. I put a roof over their heads, food on their table and security against the harsh world, and you dare come here to convince them to turn on me?” she demands. Jeonghan doesn’t so much as flinch, calmly crossing his arms.

“They did everything by themselves,” Jeonghan argues, annoyance in his tone, “from living the life you trapped them in to doing your so called ‘chores’. They protect you from potential assassins, locking themselves into mental self-destructing Face it, you never did anything for them.”

The witch is silent, scowl on her face as white magic flickered around her form.

“Silence!” she screams, thrusting her hand forward as white daggers fly towards Jeonghan. Before he can even react fast enough, a wall of ice rises in front of him, blocking the shots as a blur passes in front of him. Junhui’s icicles cover every inch of the room as he makes the first retaliation, holding an ice dagger against the witch’s icy fingernails. Jeonghan finally lets his magic free, summoning a ball of light in his hand as he prepares to launch it at the witch. Junhui meets his eyes at the last second, a quiet determination flaring in them that yells for Jeonghan to step down. For Junhui to do this on his own, if only to liberate himself. Jeonghan complies.

With a battle cry, Junhui pushes the witch back swinging his dagger down and breaking off one of her fingernails. The witch screams, a piercing cry that vibrates the citadel’s icy ceiling. Magic leaks from the broken spike of ice, foggy mist slowly curling back to the witch. Junhui sees it too, jumping in front of the spirit as he summons a shard of ice unlike all of his other one. With wide eyes, Jeonghan recognizes it as True Ice, watching with shock as the ice absorbs the misty magic. Junhui glares at the witch, watching her charge at Junhui with an icy sword as he stabs the shard of ice into his wrist. Magic explodes from the shard, sucked into Junhui’s body as the sheer force of it flings Jeonghan into the wall. This time, Jeonghan barely manages to stabilize and cushion the impact, although the witch does the same. There’s a fog in the middle of the room, a cross between frozen air and magic as Jeonghan squints to make out Junhui’s figure.

“Come out of there, you ungrateful fox!” the witch screams. She throws a few daggers into the smoke, but before they even make contact, the daggers stop and fall, as if hitting an invisible wall. Suddenly, Junhui leaps out from inside, a fan of ice-blue spikes behind him as he waves them at the Mistress. The ice follows him like ribbons in the wind, nearly making contact with the witch’s body before she slides out of the way. The room explodes with ice blocks, nearly impaling Jeonghan as he jumps away for safety. Jeonghan surrounds himself in a shield of light, watching with fear and slight anxiety as Junhui and the witch dance like two polar winds, twisting and turning over each other for dominance. Like two storms trying to smother one another.

They dance throughout the entire circular room, movements so fast Jeonghan can’t even catch up. By the time he’s registered a hit grazing someone, they’re already halfway across the room again. Mumbling under his breath, Jeonghan prepares for the worst, in case Junhui needs help. Another fingernail falls off, and another ear-splitting scream pierces the air. Again, Junhui absorbs the magic, fighting with renewed energy. Jeonghan would like to think this means a winning fight for Junhui, but he’s a fool to not see Junhui’s skin slowly cover with frost and ice. He’ll become an ice statue before the witch dies, Jeonghan realizes.

Another fingernail falls off, and Junhui’s skin turns a sickly shade of blue. Jeonghan bites his bottom lip, gathering light magic in his hand and watching. Waiting. Another fingernail follows an intense and close fan of blades, dropping on the floor. Before Junhui can grab it, Jeonghan shoots his magic out, trapping the shard of ice as he meets Junhui’s confused gaze.

“Go! I’ll take care of the magic!” Jeonghan yells. Junhui nods, turning back to the battle. The witch glares at him, running over to the falling fingernail. Jeonghan grits his teeth, sliding on the floor and snatching the piece as Junhui swings with his floating daggers, slicing two more fingernails off at the same time. Jeonghan takes those too, covering his ears as the witch’s screams fill the air.

“You’ll never defeat me, weakling! I taught you everything!” the witch screams. Junhui closes his eyes, shaking as the magic slowly takes over his body. He then exhales, opening his eyes to reveal two ice-blue irises, hardened and determined as he stares the witch down. Jeonghan rolls out of the way, knowing not to interrupt this last moment.

“Not everything,” Junhui hisses as he slams his hands into the ground. Magic exits him like an open valve, pouring into the room’s atmosphere in a mist. A piece of ice whizzes past Jeonghan’s ear, and upon closer inspection Jeongfhan can see it’s the piece of True Ice Junhui used to absorb all of the magic. Jeonghan holds the balls of light with the witch’s magic up to the shard, shocked to see it slowly absorbing all of the magic. Biting his bottom lip, Jeonghan turns back to search for Junhui. This plan would be suicide.

But they have no choice.

In the mist, Jeonghan can hear another scream, followed by four fingernails sliding towards him at the same time, and Jeonghan knows he has no time. He covers the ice shard in a ball of light, merging the last shard of fingernail magic into the shard as he charges into the mist. Immediately, the room clears, Junhui and the witch still fighting as Jeonghan opens his mouth to scream.

“Junhui!” Jeonghan screams, hurling the shard at Junhui. With a willing arm, Junhui intercepts it, his body vibrating as all ten fingernail’s magic as the sheer force of entry pushes everyone in the vicinity back. With shaking hands and ice blooming out of Junhui’s veins, he turns to look at the witch.

“This,” Junhui hisses, voice cracking with every second longer the overdose of magic stays in him, “is for everyone.”

The world slows into silence, Jeonghan’s heartbeat the only thing he can hear in his ears as Junhui thrusts his hand towards the witch. The witch holds out her now-bloody hands, summoning a thin layer of ice in an attempt to block Junhui’s attack. There’s a wild look in Junhui’s eyes, a sense of determination, pseudo-courage and conflict in his brown orbs, and Jeonghan knows Junhui can’t fully commit. The witch must know the power of manipulation, to keep such a kind and powerful person like Junhui at bay for so long. Jeonghan racks his brain for a solution somehow, scouring every tidbit of information the others have dropped for him about Junhui. He’s an orphan. He carries guilt with every kill, even the justified ones. He is under heavy sedation from Xuanyi’s magic to keep the whispers from his condition at bay.

_ The whisper _ .

With wide eyes, Jeonghan leaps across the throne room, eyes searching frantically for the piece of True Ice Junhui uses to channel magic into himself. Junhui’s mere inches away from the witch now, and Jeonghan can see her snarl hide a cruel smile, as if she knows this will all be for nothing. Jeonghan can’t let that happen. He finds the piece of True Ice just tossed in the center of the room, channeling all of his magic into a singular bolt of light at his index finger, before looking up and meeting the witch’s eyes.

She sees him. She sees what he’s doing. She redirects her hand towards Jeonghan, mouth opening to scream as Junhui’s attack falters mere seconds away from her. Jeonghan grits his teeth, forcing all the magic he can muster into a singular beam as he zaps the piece of crystal into two big shards. A million wails escape into the air, but it’s absolutely nothing compared to the gigantic dark shadow that levitates out of Junhui’s body. Junhui’s eyes focus, the shade of ice blue in his irises becoming impossibly vibrant as realization dawns to him. Jeonghan doesn’t know if he even recognizes what happened, just slowly falling as exhaustion takes over, watching as Junhui summons a singular bolt of ice and plunges it into the witch’s heart. A blood-curdling scream breaks through the haze of silence in Jeonghan’s mind, somewhat of a wake up call as he startles into wake. The witch evaporates, quite literally, as her body turns into dust and flies away with the light breeze in the room. Junhui holds onto his bolt for as long as possible, until the witch’s body fully disappears, leaving behind nothing but a wisp of smoke as Junhui falls to his knees. His eyes are wide, returned to their original state of chocolate brown as his mouth hangs slightly agape. Jeonghan doesn’t waste another second, bounding across the room with a wide smile as he tackles Junhui in a hug.

“You did it!” Jeonghan cries, blasting the light walls around the room to signal Kahei inside.

“I did it...” Junhui breathes, his lips slowly curling up into a smile.

“I did it,” Junhui says again, slightly more confident as he returns Jeonghan’s hug. Jeonghan squeezes him, pride brimming in his chest as he notices Kahei walking in. Junhui starts laughing, incredulous as he turns around to face Kahei.

“I did it, Kahei!” Junhui cries, smiling wide at her. Kahei looks around the room, making notice of the giant ice spikes and the distinct lack of witchy presence. The fact that the witch is gone slowly seeps in, and Kahei blinks as she realizes what that means. They’re free now. She slowly smiles, turning back to Junhui as she nods.

“You did it, Huihui,” Kahei repeats.

Junhui whoops on top of his lungs, grins on his face as he pushes himself up to run over to Kahei. Halfway towards her, he suddenly skids to a stop, suddenly hesitating as he looks down at his hands. Jeonghan frowns.

“What’s wrong?” Jeonghan asks. Junhui turns to him, a frown on his face.

“The voices,” Junhui says quietly, “they’re gone.”

Jeonghan smiles. He opens up his palm, showing Junhui the shattered crystal in his palm.

“Figured out the problem,” Jeonghan grins. Junhui turns around to Kahei, not quite sure how to respond.

“But then my magic goes away with it,” Junhui whispers. Kahei bites her bottom lip. Slowly, she shakes her head, walking towards Junhui.

“You never got it from the crystal in the first place, Huihui,” Kahei explains. She pats his shoulder, where Jeonghan knows Junhui’s mark is.

“It was only to control you. I couldn’t say anything, but I wasn’t sure destroying the shard would help anyway. You always—” Kahei suddenly chokes, tears of joy pricking the corners of her eyes as a smile spreads on her face.

“You always took everything to heart Huihui. She took advantage of that,” Kahei continues. Junhui’s silent, frozen as he tries to come to terms with what happened. Jeonghan walks over to the pair, patting their hair gently.

“It’s never too late to become what you might’ve been,” Jeonghan says, smiling as he consoled them. Junhui meets Jeonghan’s eyes, biting his bottom lip as a sense of uncertainty flashes through his eyes.

“How can you know?” Junhui asks. Jeonghan shrugs.

“If even I can start, five hundred years too late, surely you can too.”


	10. Chapter 10: To you who taught me what love is (JN)

“Do you have enough rations? A flare for snowstorms? Enough blankets?” Xuanyi nags in her mom's voice. She fusses over Junhui’s backpack, insisting she retie the bag strap or it’ll fall off ‘the moment he hits the first trek’. Yanan stands to the side of all of this mess, watching with mild amusement as he sips on his tea. Renjun’s at the kitchen, although there are so many bandages on him jun couldn’t quite tell who he is until Renjun snickers at his misfortune.

“I don’t even get cold!” Junhui whines, trying to fight a losing battle. Chenle shoots him a sympathetic smile, but he goes back to pasting cute bandages on Renjun’s casts soon enough. Never one without the other, Junhui notices. He’s glad he made the right decision, for once. Kahei is leaning against the doorframe, watching Junhui with mild amusement as she gives him a sympathetic salute.

“Doesn’t matter! You still need a blanket, Mr. I-Don’t-Get-Cold! Just you wait until I have to say ‘I told you so’!” Xuanyi fusses, stuffing another pack of ration into Junhui’s bag as she clips the bag together. Junhui rolls his eyes.

“Yes mom,” Junhui says, sighing. Xuanyi exhales, eyes searching Junhui’s own as she purses her lips. There’s a tense kind of nervousness to her shoulders, hunched together as her death grip on Junhui’s backpack relaxes ever so slightly.

“Come home,” she finally says, voice filled with worry, “please? We all love you too much to see you gone, Huihui.”

Junhui gulps. He glances over at Yanan, who’s watching him with rapt attention. Once upon a time, there might have been a fond line under a worried smile. Maybe there would be a sort of longing in Junhui’s gaze too. They say you can’t build a relationship out of guilt, and Junhui’s and Yanan’s relationship has nothing but a bitter aftertaste. Yanan refuses to meet Junhui’s eyes, although one would have to blind to not understand the painful distance between them. A limbo, of sorts.

“I’ll try,” Junhui echoes, voice far away. He looks around the room, finding every one of the people who always stuck with him. The same people who stare at him with the same mild concern every time Junhui leaves for a mission. Yangyang and Kunhang are manhandling each other in one corner, with the former leaning over to eat a stray frostberry missed from Yukhei’s and and Sicheng’s attempts to snatch one out of the air. The guards are always up to some kind of weird antic. Junhui’s roped into them more often than not. Meiqi’s reading a book in the corner, ever the quiet librarian who catered to Junhui’s need to curl up like a cat listening to her retell Freljord’s greatest heroes. There was a time, he remembers, when Junhui dreamed of becoming one of those heroes.

“The champion of the ice who defeated Freljord’s oldest sorceress, averted the worst crisis since the war against the Watchers prepares to leave the tiny confines of home to save the world from a band of vengeful spirits,” Kun muses. He’s sitting on the kitchen table, just behind Kahei as he pats Xuanyi’s shoulder gently.

“He’ll be fine,” Kun reassures. Xuanyi bites her bottom lip.

“He better be.”

“Nervous?” Jeonghan asks. Junhui turns to him, biting his bottom lip. They’re sitting on the edge of the castle’s walls, looking at the horizon as Kahei does her cool magic to bind the vengeance spirits to a small holding for temporary travel. They weren’t ecstatic about it, but a round of ale was enough to change it.

“What gave it away?” Junhui mumbles. Jeonghan smiles at him gently. There’s a sort of light-hearted comfort to him, somewhat of a cross between worrywart Xuanyi and gentle Kun. It’s odd, in a way, how quickly Junhui allows Jeonghan to see the parts of him the other took years to find. He wants to blame it on the mysterious mark on his shoulder, but the real answer probably lies in Jeonghan’s presence. Like a chilly wind that carries the scent of freshly baked cookies to Junhui. A blessing and a reminder at the same time. He can’t hide forever.

“Leaving home is tough. I get it,” Jeonghan gently reminds him. Junhui purses his lips, staring at the ancient Aspect of Light in front of him. There’s a sort of pain in his tone, as if a bitter memory came with the reassurance. Junhui can’t quite forget the resignation in his daily movements, a sort of longing and listlessness that is only motivated by the burden on his shoulder. Junhui doesn’t know how he does it. Although he supposes Jeonghan had 500 years to come to terms with it.

“Do you miss him?” Junhui asks gently, wary of Jeonghan’s expression. Jeonghan purses his lips, although his eyes don’t shift from the tired attempt at cheerfulness.

“All the time,” Jeonghan replies. He looks away, staring into the cold Freljordian sky as the wind ruffles his hair. He looks like a fallen angel, in a way, but not the kind that wants to overthrow the world. A retired one, kind of, Junhui decides on. Wanting to rest, but never quite being able to. He’s an all-powerful Aspect who can’t catch a break, Junhui deduces. One who can’t even find his demons, let alone stand up to them. Quiet resignation rings in Jeonghan’s exhale. He’s lonely, Junhui realizes. Junhui has a castle full of people who are always ready to cheer him up. Jeonghan, on the other hand, doesn’t.

Without a sound, Junhui scoots next to Jeonghan, quietly resting his head on Jeonghan’s shoulder. He’s just the slightest bit too tall for Jeonghan, but Junhui can endure the neck crick.

“Junhui?” Jeonghan asks, confusion evident in his tone as he turns towards Junhui. Junhui grins, a cross between a cheeky cheshire one that blooms naturally and a comforting he hopes doesn’t look creepy.

“You’ll be okay, Hannie,” Junhui mewls. Jeonghan pauses for a split second, staring at Junhui in surprise and Junhui really considers pulling away and apologizing for reading the mood wrong. Before he can, Jeonghan slings an arm over his shoulders, gently rubbing Junhui’s side. Always the one to comfort. Never the one to receive it. It’s not really fair.

“Hannie?” Jeonghan repeats. Junhui’s grin falters for a brief moment.

“Friends need to have nicknames, no?” Junhui proposes. Jeonghan pauses, pondering in silence before a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Okay, Junnie.”

Junhui grins. Junnie. Not Huihui. If what Jeonghan tells Junhui about the group of prophesied souls destined to save the world again is true, he’ll have another family. One where he’s not known as ‘Huihui’, but maybe as ‘Junnie’. A second family. A fresh start.

Yanan resurfaces in his mind, a brief memory of a fond smile Junhui thought he would never grow tired of seeing. Maybe he’ll find the real one he was looking for in his to-be-made family. A good start to a good relationship, with the right person and the right timing.

“How does it feel,” Jeonghan asks, “to be free of the witch?”

Junhui averts his gaze, staring at a falling snowflake. He’s never felt a particular attachment to her, only as the Mistress who controlled him with measured dosages of brainwashing True Ice. A controlled pet, of sorts. He’s free now, but…

It still leaves a bitter aftertaste.

“To be honest… I don’t quite know?” Junhui drawls, staring at the snowy fields where a battle had happened mere days ago. Empty. Vast. Pure. An empty field that contained so many memories, wiped away with every breeze of the tundra wind. A clean slate, except there’s nothing they can possibly think of building on.

“Rebuilding,” Jeonghan muses, “that’s always the hard part, isn’t it?”

Junhui shrugs. “I wouldn’t know.”

Jeonghan’s smile turns to a soft grimace. He stares into the horizons, as if he’s watching the ghost of another civilization. Or perhaps he’s looking at himself. He’s quite the cryptic one, after all.

“You’re resilient, Junnie,” Jeonghan reassures him. “You’ll persist.”

The journey is relatively uneventful, aside from the couple of ambushes from raiding clans. Jeonghan tells Junhui stories from the dream he was stuck in for so long, and Junhui tells him of the legends of Freljord millennias old around the fire. Blizzards come and go, all redirected with Junhui’s magic as he creates bubbles for them to take shelter under. The spirits are stored in a tiny necklace that hangs around Junhui’s neck, watching the world in case they try to fool the spirits into something. Kahei had been adamant about them taking good care of it.

The skies today are still, quiet without a trace of wind as the sun beats down on their backs. The snow is crisp and soft, crushing under every step as they hike through the cold terrain.

“Storm’s coming soon,” Junhui mumbles. He turns around, finding Jeonghan eyeing him with confusion.

“How do you know?” Jeonghan asks. Junhui shrugs.

“Wind’s never this till. It’s a big one. I don’t think I can redirect this one,” Junhui

Jeonghan purses his lips nervously. “We need to find shelter then.”

Junhui nods. He looks around for any sign of a landmark, racking his brain for the geography lessons Meiqi drilled into him. A tiny outcropping of rock appears in the distance, to the right of their position. On the other hand, a blotch of black approaches it with alarming speed, and Junhui knows they don’t have much time.

“The Avarosans build their homes under cliffs,” Junhui recites, recognition flashing through him as he grips the necklace around his neck. It hums with a faint buzz, as if excited to see home. Then, Junhui turns to Jeonghan, who’s starting to piece the puzzle together.

“We’ll never make it on time,” Jeonghan concludes. Junhui’s mark glows with a faint hum, a prickling sensation down his arm as a reminder of his potential. Of hope.

“I can take us there, but we’ll barely make it on time. The Avarosans will surely try to attack us if I charge in with a mountain of ice behind me,” Junhui mumbles, starting to build up magic in his palms. Jeonghan nods, catching on as he walks over to Junhui’s position.

“I’ll defend us for as long as possible. Summon the spirits once we get there,” Jeonghan says, placing a hand on Junhui’s mark as he stares at Junhui with determination.

“We’ll make it,” Jeonghan firmly states. Junhui sighs, trying to believe him. They don’t have any other choice.

“Let’s hope families recognize each other,” Junhui mumbles.

With a boom, ice explodes from underneath them, spreading a path of ice from where Junhui and Jeonghan is standing towards the horizon. The air starts howling as Junhui pulls breezes from nowhere, tugging on the invisible droplets of snow in the air and pushing them along the track. Jeonghan locks their arms together, forming a barrier of light around them to withstand the wind as Junhui shoots them forwards. A shrill whistle of air streamlines past Junhui’s ears, his entire body screaming as it fights the rapid movement. He’s travelled with the technique before, cutting week-long journeys to mere hours as his frail body tries to hold itself together in the propel forwards. The edge of the blizzard is visible now, except it’s more than just from the east. As if they had been circled in, the howling winds growl and twist, and Junhui flinches as he notices the paranormal shift in its behaviour.

_ Storm spirits _ , Junhui realizes. He curses in his mind, not daring to break concentration in fear of not being able to make it in time. The outcropping is slowly getting bigger, a glimpse of the goal as Junhui tries to push a little harder. His mark burns on his shoulder, searing into his muscles as it tries to aid him. Despite his best efforts, Junhui knows he’ll never make it. They can’t cut a three day trip to the town in just 10 minutes.

Suddenly, a warm hand presses against Junhui’s back, blossoming a sense of comfort into his muscles as he dares peek to look at Jeonghan. Jeonghan’s entire body glows with soft light, basking in a golden glow as the winds flicker the magic behind him. He raises his other hand, and Junhui stares in wonder as Jeonghan clenches his fist, grasping his soft yellow magic as a determined line sets on his mind. In an instant, a large boom echoes across the giant field of snow and ice. The two are propelled forwards at unimaginable speed, a combination of an Aspect’s and the Ice Champion’s power to launch two meek bodies into a raging storm. Storm spirits growl and howl in their wake, descending on their position like a swarm of moths to a light. The outcropping of rock comes fully into view, the outline of a small town starting to form as Junhui grits his teeth. The blizzard groans and howls in his ears, the storm spirits surging up as they prepare to intercept Junhui and Jeonghan.

_ Come on, _ Junhui thinks, gritting his teeth as he squeezes out every last drop of magic he can spare. The storm bites at his cheek, trying to scratch at Junhui. He shrugs it off, ignoring it as he pushes.

_ Come on! _ Junhui practically yells, pushing one final time as he can finally make out the guards inside of the guard tower of the town. They stare at the incoming supernova with surprise, yelling as the tiny people scramble outside. Junhui expects a fight.

The storm spirits howl one last time, colliding into Junhui’s path at the last possible second, pushing with all of the blizzard’s power as it counters Junhui and Jeonghan’s momentum. They crash, sending Junhui flying in the other direction as he watches his goal barely slip out of grasp. He cries into the winds, the sound drowned as he watches the storm spirits’ malicious smiles swarm them. A barrier of light flickers out in front of them, blocking the first attack. It fizzles almost immediately, as Jeonghan stumbles. Junhui reacts just in time, catching Jeonghan before he stumbles into the snow in exhaustion. He whips his head back at the storm spirits, rage burning through him as he thinks of everyone back home waiting for him to return. Xuanyi, who would shut herself out forever from a broken heart. Renjun, who’d curse him out for not giving Renjun a chance to save his ass in return for saving Renjun. Yanan—

Junhui chokes.

Yanan deserves a proper apology.

“You’ll never get me!” Junhui yells, glaring at the spirits as he tries to build up magic in him. Nothing replies, only the vague scream of pain as the blizzard's cold numbs Junhui’s nerves. He shouldn’t even be cold. The spirits laugh at him, cackling as they circle him. Probably debating how to rip him apart.

“I’ll fight every last one of you if I have too!” Junhui yells again, but he can feel his strength slipping. Suddenly, a chill passes through him, different from the biting cold the blizzard offers. Cold… yet protective, at the same time.

_ The thing is, _ a deep, manly voice hums in Junhui’s skull,  _ you don’t have to. _

A wave of ice blue figures suddenly jumps out from Junhui’s pendant, roaring a fierce battle cry as they split nature’s worst onslaught in half. A path clears almost immediately as two large bulky arms support Junhui before he falls. Junhui whips his head around, meeting the cold, misty eyes of Bob and his creepy yet comforting grin.

“We ain’t done yet, boy!” Bob bellows, jovial as he charges forward. His wispy forms thump with every step on the snow, the sound of a raging battle drowning them as Junhui’s heart soars with hope. He grins, fighting the exhaustion that came with his cooling adrenaline. Spots dance in his vision as Bob carries them straight to the door, meeting the eyes of a small squad of wary guards.

“We come in peace!” Junhui yells, although he’s so tired it’s more of a squeak. The guards don’t answer him.

“Friends!” Bob yells, and the guards all flinch as recognition flickers through their widened eyes.

“The war father? But you’re dead!” One of the guards cry out, levelling his spear as his hands tremble. They shouldn’t be out here, in this cold, Junhui realizes bitterly. Bob shakes his head.

“I’m about as dead as your crazy uncle’s wild imagination, Ming! Now where’s my daughter?” Bob calls, heaving towards them. The guard, presumably Ming, glances at his comrade before breaking into a smile.

“Come in!” Ming yells, gesturing for the gate to be opened. He glances around at the rest of the battle, watching with slight alarm as he swallows nervously.

“Is pops here?” Ming asks, meekly. Bob nods.

“Spring as a… well, spring! I’ll tell you the whole story later. For now, take these two in and treat them. Storm’s packing a nasty fight,” Bob chuckles. Ming nods, calling two of his friends over as Jeonghan and Junhui’s limp body is passed to them. Junhui stares at Bob, trying to form a meek offer to help as Bob wags his finger at Junhui.

“Rest up, boy. You’ve done well.”

Then he grins once again, pulling out his axe.

“The others would be proud.”


	11. Chapter 11: We don’t change (JH)

“So let me get this straight,” the Avarosan Warmother calls out. Her voice interrupts Junhui’s and Jeonghan’s overlapping rambles in a haste to explain their current situation. The room is silent, not a soul in sight as the Warmother scrunches up her nose in thought, save for the crackling of torches and the raging storm outside. The Great Lodge’s thick wooden walls stay strong against the onslaught of storm spirits, a golden brown as fiery hearths keep the interior warm. Hunting trophies hang from the walls, a variety of achievements from the Warmother’s first kill to her mother’s first kill to her great times a million grandmother’s first kill. A history of the Warmothers of Avarosa, living in the dead eyes of animals. A reminder that Avarosans were hunters, not warriors, nor mages.

“Dad became a ghost after the Sorceress killed him and locked him out of a peaceful passage for absolutely no good reason,” the Warmother begins, a tone of bitterness in her voice. She glares at Jeonghan, a sense of anger and hidden frustration as she channels all of the rage in her (frankly, tiny) body into her words. Jeonghan’s heart takes a dip at the story, once again cursing the ancient witch for tearing entire families apart based on mild suspicions. He nods regardless, hoping to be a sign of goodwill as the Warmother continues.

“And then he resurfaces again for about a week to kill your sorceress to finally put himself and his men to rest, and you take that away from him?” the Warmother accuses, face flushing as she rises out of her seat.

“It was two weeks,” Junhui mumbles quietly. Jeonghan pinches his arm, glaring at Junhui to shut up before turning back to the Warmother. She has squishy cheeks and gangly limbs, drowned in the thick fur cape that hung behind her. Her breastplate sheens a bronze brown, accented with red and white feathers that points accusatively at Jeonghan as the Warmother jabs her finger at him. This, of course, should be absolutely terrifying, if she wasn’t the height of a stack of pancakes.

“The sorceress is immortal, only killable by the people she imbues her magic into,” Jeonghan explains calmly, trying not to make it obvious his neck is turned really far down. The Warmother purses her lips, considering his words as her glare stays wary.

“Then if she is gone, why is Dad still a vengeance spirit? Shouldn’t he have passed on?” the Warmother asks, raising her tone. Jeonghan can understand why she’s so mad, to find out the father she mourned for more than a decade of her life was actually struggling to find a corporate form to free his soul. He should’ve passed on, instead of being chained down to another task. But therein lies the problem.

“He’s held himself to protecting you, Warmother, and his men have vowed to protect Avarosa from another nightmare in the case of an attack. We had no say in the matter,” Jeonghan explains. He silently thanks Bob for vying to stay outside and fight, trying to milk as much out of the story as possible. Bob is so adamant about protecting his kin anyway, so Jeonghan doubts it’ll come up anyway. Hopefully.

“So he’ll never pass on?” the Warmother says bitterly. Jeonghan shakes his head.

“He’ll pass on when his duty has ended. That duty is to protect the current Warmother until her time. A guardian always sees their duty through until the end, regardless of anything. He’s already lost your mother, Warmother, he can’t possibly lose you too. If you truly love your dad, allow him his final wish, at the very least.”

The room is silent, the tension in the air palpable as Jeonghan holds his gaze firm with the Warmother. The fury in her eyes materializes, forming in tiny crystalline tears as her body continues to shake.

“You have no right to talk about anyone’s last wish, murderer. You take their last wishes! I should take yours too, to show you how it feels to lose the one thing you held dear!” the Warmother bites back. Tears stream down her cheeks in a waterfall, pooling at her feet as the drops fall to the ground soundlessly. No one’s around but the three of them, and Jeonghan wonders how long this child has had to keep a front for the crowd. For her tribe. Child royalty is a recipe for disaster, afterall. Never prepared, the whole lot of them. Jeonghan wishes he could have done something. Jeonghan wishes he can say something, right now, to rationalize or even comfort the young Warmother, but the words stay stuck in his throat.

“You’re right,” Junhui’s voice is the one to interrupt the silence. Jeonghan turns to him, hesitant and shocked as he watches determination harden in Junhui’s eyes.

“What?” the Warmother breathes, disbelief colouring her voice as her eyebrows narrow. Her body relaxes for just a second, and jeonghan can feel the slight radiance of hope in her tone. The hope that someone else finally understands. The hope that someone else is like her too, lonely in this world of pressure. Jeonghan knows the narrative too well, watching countless royals rise and fall from it.

“You’re right. I am a murderer. I took countless lives without a moment of hesitation, ignoring the pained screams their families give me as I escape before the guards come,” Junhui continues, not missing a beat as his eyes morph into pity. Pity and guilt. For a brief moment, Jeonghan wonders if the memories have resurfaced, that Junhui would break again, just like the first time Jeonghan found him quivering at the kitchen island. Or when he resigned himself to save the people he loved in the citadel, staring at the witch’s cold eyes as her fingernails dug into his throat. Junhui wasn’t a murderer by choice. That much, Jeonghan is sure of.

“You’re right,” Junhui says, a little louder but still gentle as he watches the Warmother stare in disbelief, “I kill people without mercy. But I also remember each and every one of their last words. Their last plea. The things they hold most dear to them, spoken as the final thoughts they try to plead before they pass. I’ve watched people scream about their legacy, selfish wishes I know should never come to fruition. I’ve watched undeserving dreamy-eyed explorers try to settle on the mountains of Freljord, only to wish they spent a bit more time with their loved ones before their end. I’ve watched them, I cried for them, I try to live them out, seeing the wonders they wish they could, hold on to the people I love in place of the ones they’ve lost. I know it’s not enough. I know that nothing is ever enough to justify what I’ve done, but I still have to try. I can’t change what my Mistress has done to tear your family to pieces,” Junhui whispers, lowering himself to his knees as clear tears form in his eyes. Slowly, he bows his head, putting his hands together as he croaks out the last words.

“But I can try to at least lead one soul back to fulfill his last wish, instead of having to live it out myself.”

Silence.

Jeonghan watches Junhui bite back a sob, a sense of pride swirling in him as he watches the confused boy finally come to terms with himself. A limbo of guilt and duty, where every mission Junhui went on took a toll on him. True Ice and countless emotion-numbing spells decorated every inch of his possessions and body, a small comfort for a burden Jeonghan knew was too big for one person to handle alone. Jeonghan wonders if Junhui will ever truly be free from his burdens, if Junhui can finally stop seeing the blood and hearing the screams in his dreams. He never mentions the violent nightmares Jeonghan can feel torment Junhui’s every waking moment, an endless marr of guilt and fear with every breath, but Jeonghan can see it nonetheless.

Now, Junhui stands in front of one of the victims on another’s hand, trying to justify something he didn’t do and Jeonghan wishes he could just wrap Junhui in a soft blanket of joy and finally give him a break. He supposes the job is too big for even the whole cast of his childhood to do, but maybe it’s because they’re a part of the burden Junhui gave himself too. One he doesn’t deserve. The Warmother regards him with slight pity, anger all fizzled out of her as she starts to stamer for a reply. The tears are still fresh on her cheeks, but she’s at least stopped shaking.

“You weren’t the one who killed him, right?” she finally whispers. Junhui looks up, shaking his head slowly as he bites his bottom lip.

“Not the first time, but… I tried a second time. When he was about to kill my own family. You understand what I had to do, War—”

“Yuqi,” the Warmother interrupts. Junhui falters, before nodding in understanding.

“My name is Yuqi,” the Warmother—Yuqi—finally says. Her voice is a false sense of stability, as if she’s trying to comfort herself. Jeonghan hopes she can find someone who can do it for her soon enough.

“I do not forgive your kind, Frost Guards, but you may rest at my town during the blizzard,” Yuqi decrees, iciness to her tone as she wipes her tears away. Her face regains its composure as she starts to walk past Jeonghan and Junhui, not pausing to watch Jeonghan heave a sigh of relief. They’re safe, if only temporarily. Suddenly, she pauses, turning back to look at Jeonghan. In that single look, she brought down all of her walls and Jeonghan finally saw a glimpse at the child behind the cold exterior of a Warmother. A deer, trying to dress as a wolf. A child who was never supposed to carry the cloak of a ruler.

“Thank you,” she finally says, “for bringing him back to me.”

“We have a problem,” Junhui’s voice breaks Jeonghan out of his stupor. Jeonghan was staring at the snowflakes outside, occasionally seeing the stray storm spirit clash against the walls of the tiny guest room Yuqi put them in. Junhui’s leaning against the spruce frame, arms crossed as a look of worry worms its way to his face. Jeonghan frowns, cocking his head in confusion.

“What’s up?” Jeonghan asks. Junhui opens his mouth to respond, hesitating before he shakes his head. With a sigh, Junhui stands up straight and beckons Jeonghan to follow him.

“You have to see this for yourself.”

Jeonghan props himself up, still frowning as he follows Junhui. Junhui leads him through the great lodge, skirting around the edge of the great hall as Jeonghan spares a peek in. The people inside are celebrating, cheering for the promise of a great hunt after the storm. Yuqi’s nowhere to be seen, although the rest of the Avarosans are too focused on some guy chugging to notice her absence. Jeonghan wonders what his face would be like had he tasted any of the citadel’s ale. The air is jovial and warm, a dim light of orange jubilation cast over the crowd like a soft blanket. It reminds Jeonghan of the warm air the kids back at the citadel shared, under the white haze of snow as they sled down a tall tower of ice. He looks over at Junhui, finding him sneaking glances at the hall, a look on his face that could only mean homesickness.

“You okay?” Jeonghan asked. Junhui jolts, blinking as he snaps out of whatever daze he was in. Slowly, he nods, pursing his lip.

“I’m fine. Just worried about the others,” Junhui mumbles. Jeonghan nods, following him as they dart past the hall. The rest of the lodge is relatively silent, only echoes of the rowdy mess from the hall echoing in the lodge. Junhui leads him to a discreet door tucked in the back of the lodge, around the side of the lodge. Jeonghan’s frown deepens as they enter.

“Junh—”

“Shhh!” A voice calls out. Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, peering past Junhui to take a survey of the room. There’s a small fireplace in the corner of the cramped room. There’s a coat of bear fur in the corner, folded and neatly tucked in a way that somewhat resembles a bed. Two bowls of water and fish are next to it, flickering orange as the flames dance in front of them. On the other side of the room, Yuqi sat with her eyes wary, arms folded to hide a gigantic lump of fur in her arms, marked with two tiny horns sticking out over her arms. She’s hunched up and tense, like that of a mama bear and Jeonghan’s eyebrows only raise even higher.

“Is that what I think it is?” Jeonghan asks. Junhui sighs.

“It’s a poro.”

Jeonghan stares in disbelief as it registers that her majesty, the Warmother of the Avarosan tribe is holding a creature from the Howling Abyss of the Citadel in her arms. Yuqi glares at him.

“How’d it get here? Don’t they live near the citadel?” Jeonghan asks. Junhui shrugs.

“It’s been here for a while, apparently,” Junhui explains, “Yuqi found it in a storm once. I think it’s been here for too long.”

“It,” Yuqi loudly calls out before Jeonghan can respond, “has a name, y’know, and they’ve been absolutely fine until you tried to pet it.”

“It looked lonely!” Junhui cries indignantly, trying to defend himself.

She clutches it tighter, rubbing its head gently as she continues to glare at Junhui. A symbol of purity, happiness and love, it would die if held too far from constant love and affection. Kahei keeps a few around her hut, to do the chores in exchange for a good head rub. Poros tend to keep to themselves though, in a manner similar to that of a very affectionate cat. Jeonghan walks over to Yuqi and the poro, softening his gaze as Yuqi flinches and recoils even further.

“What’s their name?” Jeonghan asks. Yuqi bites her bottom lip.

“Neverland. I found it around the time Dad—” she chokes, suddenly pausing as she hiccups. She purses her lips, sniffing before continuing.

“You know what happened,” she mumbles. Jeonghan nods, shifting into a sitting position.

“That's a while without their kind. Lack of attention can be damaging to its core,” Jeonghan notes. Yuqi’s cheeks dust pink as her cheeks bloat.

“I give them plenty of attention! They would have never had this had Junhui not pet them!” Yuqi argues, fiercely hugging the poro as she glares at Jeonghan.

“He’s grown up in the citadel all his life. He probably carries something from the other poros that this one recognizes. It’s like when you see something from home after being so far away the homesickness is forgotten,” Jeonghan points out. Yuqi’s silent, not arguing but not relenting either. Jeonghan sighs.

“Can I have a look?” Jeonghan asks, Yuqi glares at him.

“No.”

“They’re probably just sick,” Jeonghan tries to reason, “we need to cure them.”

Yuqi shakes her head, holding it even tighter as her bottom lip juts out in a pout.

“I’ll just cuddle with them until they feel better,” Yuqi hisses. Jeonghan frowns, looking over at Junhui for help. Junhui just shrugs.

“Haven’t you ever seen a poro sick?” Jeonghan asks. Junhui pauses, pursing his lip in consideration. Jeonghan can see the gears in his brain turning, as if recalling an old memory.

“Yanan had one once,” Junhui recalls, “although I have no idea what he gave it when it was sick. Some kind of infusion, if memory serves.”

Jeonghan purses his lips, looking back at Yuqi. She’s holding the poro so tenderly, whispering soft comforts to it as worry etches in her face. Jeonghan wonders how long the poro has been a confiant for her. He wonders if she even has someone else, judging from the lack of kids her age running around the place. Jeonghan wonders if they even try to befriend her. Child royalty are always so lonely.

“Are there any kinds of flowers that symbolize love, family or something happy in the Freljord?” Jeonghan muses. Yuqi looks at him, uncertain as she shakes her head.

“I don’t think so. The tundra is unforgiving to most kinds of plants. Our healers barely find enough roots to imbue in potions and balms.”

Suddenly, a snap interrupts their conversation, making Jeonghan whip his head around. Junhui’s grinning, a twinkle in his eyes as an idea dawns to him.

“Amaryllis! It blooms near the Citadel, and Xuanyi uses it in her soothing lotions. It’s got a really nice smell, and the poros love them!” Junhui exclaims. Behind Jeonghan, Yuqi’s eyes go wild, excitement in her eyes as she realizes the implication.

“So I just need to give it amaryllis? What does it look like? I’ll set out to find it as soon as the storm passes.”

Junhui opens his mouth, about to describe it before suddenly halting.

“It’s too far. All the way back to the citadel, and the bloom doesn’t last for more than an hour or two. If you bring your poro, it might try to slip back,” Junhui mumbles, discouraged as his shoulders sag. Yuqi visibly deflates, sadness filling her warm eyes as she gazes at her pet sadly. Jeonghan watches with a heavy heart, watching the flames from the fire cast a melancholic orange on her. Like a mother watching her child pass on. Heartbreak. Desperation.

Guilt.

“I never should’ve kept Neverland,” Yuqi mumbles. He looks over to Junhui, who’s shrinking as he nervously bites his nails. He thinks of the dream, remembering a fond memory of Seungcheol wandering through the mountains of Demacia in search of a new sword and getting side tracked by a family of red-tailed cat spirits being hunted down by Demacian hunters. The fated blade meant to kill otherworldly threats had been forgotten in a single moment, ignored along with the looming deadline as Seungcheol spent a good day or two chasing nearby hunters from the mystical creatures as he tended to its wounds. Wounds from a Demacian Mageseeker’s bow, used to suck up magic. Red-tailed cat spirits are made of magic. He always had an issue of prioritization, but he never gave up on them.  _ A guardian never gives up on protecting anything _ , Jeonghan recalls Seungcheol telling the spirits. They gave him directions to the sword later, rewarding a kind soul like in the fairy tales. Jeonghan can’t help but wonder if this is a similar situation.

“Surely that can’t be the only solution,” Jeonghan mumbles. He looks over to Junhui, who’s wearing an expression of confusion.

“Can we preserve the flower in any way? Surely lotions last for longer than two hours, right?” Jeonghan asks. Junhui purses his lips.

“But we need an infusion. Amaryllis won’t burn for more than a few minutes,” Junhui points out. Jeonghan bites his bottom lip.

“What about a seed? How long does it take for them to bloom?”

“Roughly two days, if the conditions are right. As for the transportation, amaryllis seeds can last about six hours…” Junhui trails off, eyes lighting up as realization dawns to him.

“Yuqi, keep him warm and hydrated for now. Plenty of affection,” Jeonghan announces, locking his gaze with Junhui as a sense of understanding passes between them. Yuqi frowns.

“But it takes a month and a half to even reach the Howling Abyss!” Yuqi cries. “How can you do it in six hours?”

Junhui grins, looking at Yuqi with determination sparkling in his eyes.

“You got any tea lying around?”


	12. Chapter 12: I hope this reaches you (JN)

Junhui kind of regrets leaving Jeonghan behind.

Sure, the big blast off initially from Jeonghan’s magic and the supershot of uber caffeinated tea is enough to give Junhui the boost he needs, and the less weight he has from Jeonghan, the better. Then again, it’s not like Jeonghan would’ve affected much, being mostly skin and bones.

Junhui shakes his head, redirecting his focus back on travelling. Now that he knows the way back home, he only has to follow the trail of magic left behind from his magic to retrace his steps back home. Junhui is determined to make the Frost Guards’ first proper ally.

There’s a tiny bead of sweat plastered on Junhui’s forehead, although he’s moving so fast it flies off in an instant. The mark on Junhui’s arm screams with every last ounce of energy he pushes from it. Junhui grits his teeth, pacing himself for the journey. They managed to convince the Avarosan healers to keep Yuqi’s poro a secret as they try to fight the poro’s rising fever. Last Junhui saw, Jeonghan had ushered Yuqi back to her role as the Warmother before someone went looking for her.

_ Four hours _ , a voice in Junhui’s head chimes in, a stinging reminder of the deadline Junhui’s facing. He estimates he’s roughly halfway to the Howling Abyss, going at the slow pace he’s at. Conserving his magic. He hopes Xuanyi still has magic booster potions leftover after the fight. A tinge of guilt colours Junhui’s gut for running away from the blizzard the others are fighting at the Avarosan town, but he knows he doesn’t have much time to waste. A usual fever would last roughly a week, but poros have terrible immune systems, and Junhui would be damned if he managed to kill the pet of their first potential ally.

Another hour passes, and the ache in Junhui’s arms from using so much magic starts to spike in pain, throbbing as he continues his path through the tundra. He chances upon a shortcut, a large frozen lake that could cut his journey down by at least half an hour. The smell of spring comes in short fractions to Junhui, the sharp scent of cherry blossoms and the gentle lull of a spring rainstorm passes over the lower region of the Freljord, splitting cracks along the frozen lake Junhui was traversing on. He grits his teeth, sending more magic to stabilize his path as he continued to cross the lake. Under the ice, the fishes sense a disturbance, and Junhui prays no enemies would come. He’s had a blissful five hours, nearly reaching three-quarters of the way home. Still, his senses stay sharp and alert, knowing escaping the spirits of Freljord is a fool’s wish. A dark shadow passes under him, travelling at a pace barely faster than Junhui’s own and Junhui knows this is where his good luck ends. A large boom echoes in the sky, the sound of crackling electricity ringing in the air as it strikes. Junhui stops in his track, reversing his momentum as he blasts himself backwards, narrowly dodging a lightning strike. He slides along the lake, dropping low as snow is kicked into the air, fogging the lake. Before it settles, Junhui catches a glimpse of a sickly green figure, hidden in the eyes of a little girl.

“Help! Help me!” a high pitched girly voice screams, “I’m drowning! Please help!”

Junhui knows better. He calms his heart, slowing his breath as his ears perk up in alert. The soft pitter patter of footsteps lies quiet under the girl’s cries for help. Junhui spreads his palm along the surface of the ice, willing his magic under the ice and crawling along the surface, forming into little spikes of magic, waiting. The snow starts to settle, but it’s still reflecting the sunlight from above for the miniature ice shards under the ice. Junhui closes his eyes, concentrating as he tracks the footsteps. The girl has stopped screaming, obviously realizing Junhui knows what it is. To his left, roughly two meters away, a shadow passes over his first set of ice shards. Junhui’s eyes fly open, his hands activating the trap as he springs out of the area. He narrowly dodges the first wild swipe of a monstrous hand, somewhere between a bear paw and an eagle’s talon. As he flips away, Junhui finally gets a full vision of a deformed face, describable only as a horror Junhui used to see in his nightmares when he was young.  
“Ursine,” Junhui hisses. The creature growls, jumping at Junhui to swipe when Junhui icicles bloom all at once, stabbing the creature and skewering it on multiple angles. Spirit magic gushes out of the undead spirit walker, its last howl a sure signal to the rest of its comrades. Junhui curses under his breath, summoning an ice slide underneath him as he continues to travel the lake. His best chance is to outrun them, at this rate. He can’t afford the time to fight a battle he might not win. By the time Junhui nearly reaches the other shore, a wave of ear-piercing howls fill the air, signalling to Junhui that he won’t make it in time. Junhui pivots from his path, narrowly dodging another lightning strike as he summons a fan of floating ice blades. He turns around, waving his hands as he strikes the Ursines down, one by one. He keeps on running, no longer able to muster the focus to travel by magic. The scent of dying Ursines fills the air, a stench that drowns out the soft reminder of spring’s hope. Such was the nature of the Freljord. Hope, as Junhui’s learnt, is a blessing.

Another strike of lightning wizzes past Junhui’s ears as he strikes another Ursine down. He dodges three wild swipes, stabbing them and abandoning his blades momentarily as he dodges yet another strike of lightning. He summons more blades, and it’s just rinse and repeat. At this rate, he will never make it back in time, Junhui realizes with a pang. He grits his teeth, smashing his palms together in a blast of ice. A wall of ice raises in front of him, a small stall as Junhui tears down the lake in a rush. The shore is visible now, barely out of reach as Junhui sensed the Ursines converging on his position. He can’t make it, Junhui realizes at the last second, leaning back to dodge a bolt of lightning as he hears another coming. He raises his arms, bracing for impact as he tries to summon an ice shield. Suddenly, a blast of red lightning comes from the opposite direction, colliding with the incoming bolt and knocking them both into the Ursine about to strike Junhui. Junhui whirls around, a grin spreading on his face as Yangyang’s figure comes into view. Red lightning flickers around his body, his aim true and practiced as yangyang strikes down Ursine after Ursine, deflecting incoming attacks as Junhui makes the final stretch to the other shore.

“Nice day for some Ursine hunting, huh?” Junhui calls out to Yangyang. Yangyang flashes him a toothy grin, striking down another group of Ursines as he moves to join Junhui’s travel home. The field in front of the citadel serves as the last section of land Junhui needs to travel. Yangyang’s chaos magic forms a shield around them to block incoming attacks as Junhui grabbed Yangyang’s collar.

“Welcome home, Huihui,” Yangyang grins back, “where’s Jeonghan?”  
“Delayed. I can’t stay for long though, think you can drop a hello for the others? I need to run.”

Yangyang nods.

“Meiqi can slap you over the lake to dodge the Ursines,” Yangyang says, batting off a stray Ursine. Junhui feels a twinge of guilt again, realizing he’s missing out the weekly Ursine Rush.

“Maybe this time we’ll beat your record for the Rush, Huihui!” Yangyang teases. Junhui rolls his eyes.

“In your dreams. I’ll drop you off at the courtyard while I run to the infirmary, yeah?” Junhui replies. Yangyang nods.

“What do you need anyway? I thought Xuanyi packed everything in that pack of yours.”

“Amaryllis,” Junhui replies. The citadel comes into view now, just barely out of reach as Junhui starts angling himself upwards. He launches off like a sled hitting a particular slope with too much momentum, flying into the air. Yangyang’s body flickers with red lightning as he grabs Junhui’s wrists.

“Hang on!” Yangyang yells before releasing a blast of energy and launches the pair inside the citadel walls. An Ursine follows them, almost landing inside of the citadel before a large teal blade skewers it midair. Meiqi’s eyes widen at the sight of Junhui.

“Can you slap me later?” Junhui calls down. Meiqi shakes her head.

“Stop calling it that!” She calls back, but Junhui just smiles. Yangyang detaches, joining the others as they start Ursine Rush. Junhui’ll let them have this month’s Rush. He’ll crush them twice as hard next week.

“Junhui?” is Xuanyi’s shocked exclamation when he crash lands through her window. He tucks himself into a somersault, dodging all of her furniture before stopping inches before hitting the wall. Junhui turns to her, flashing a smile before moving towards her cabinet of flowers.

“Hi! You got any amaryllis? We’re a sick poro away from gaining a new ally,” Junhui explains in a rush. Xuanyi doesn’t dwell for an answer, grabbing a jar of freeze-dried flower petals from the top shelf.

“Six hours. Get Meiqi to slap you,” Xuanyi adds. Junhui nods, grabbing the jar from Xuanyi’s hands and securing it around his waist with a piece of twine from her desk. He runs to the window, ready to launch when Xuanyi stops him.

“Wait!”

Junhui pauses looking back. Xuanyi tosses him a small vial of clear liquid. He looks at her in confusion.

“I’m trying a new recipe for boosting magic,” Xuanyi explains. Junhui nods, uncorking the vial and downing the contents in one gulp. He tosses the vial onto the sick bed, earning a disgusted look from Xuanyi before jumping out of the window. Junhui summons a platform of ice under him, feeling the vial’s magic start to settle in his veins as his eyes search for Meiqi. She’s on the citadel’s outer walls, a large hammer in her hands as she gestures for Junhui to go. He takes a deep breath, calming his pulse as he focuses the magic behind him into a singular point of outburst. He harnesses the winds behind him, slowly building up pressure. Then, he pushes. Meiqi’s hammer meets him moments later, giving Junhui a (rather painful) headstart. Yangyang’s magic swirls around his body too, sizzling the air as it shoots him forwards. An Ursines tries to reach Junhui, only to be shot out of the air by an arrow as Kun’s voice whispers in Junhui’s brain. One singular word, followed by Junhui’s veins screaming as power courses through them.

_ Go. _

He’ll barely make it.

The others gave him as much of a headstart as they could, sending Junhui at least halfway in one burst. He lands on the ground with a slight thud, carrying his momentum by creating an ice slide under him to preserve and accelerate the last bits of momentum. Then, it’s just him and the burst of power Xuanyi gave him. Even then, it took nearly two hours for Junhui to make it. If nothing happens, he’ll barely make it before the flowers wilt.

Junhui grits his teeth.

He tears through the tundra landscape at top speed, knowing he’ll encounter something along the way. And then there’s the blizzard around the town, of course, which will be nothing short of annoying to deal with. Four hours pass with relative peace, aside from the few extra Ursines along the way. It’s prime hunting season for them, anyway, which is why most tribes and clans prefer to stay inside for the start of spring. Of course, the Frostguard mages were a slight, ah, exception.

A grin finds itself onto Junhui’s face at the thought of fighting along with his friends again.

_ First, the poro,  _ Junhui chides himself,  _ Ursine Rush later. _

Junhui can feel the flowers in his jar start to wilt, away from the influence of Xuanyi’s magic to calm them down. He enters the blizzard surrounding the town with only a few minutes left to spare, narrowly dodging the storm spirits as he rushes to the gates. The spirits gather in front of him, readying themselves to blow Junhui of course again. Junhui growls under his breath, fatigue staining his muscles as he tries to run the last little bit. He closes his eyes, starting to slow down to control his direction mid air. They blow, the whizzing sound of wind coming towards Junhui. He braces himself, calculating to see if he has time to get the flowers there in time.

He waits, continuing his path.

He keeps on waiting, before Junhui realizes that the blast didn’t hit. He opens his eyes, daring to speed up a little as he spots a brilliant blast of light from the town’s outer walls. The spirits that used to gather in front of Junhui’s path lay scattered and wailing on either side of a path, cleared for Junhui to pass. At the end of it is a glowing halo of light, radiating from the staff Jeonghan held in his hand, high above his head. Junhui smiles in relief, pushing himself for every last drop of magic as he launches himself into the town. Jeonghan twists the staff in his hand, blasting the storm spirits chasing Junhui in a barrage of light as Junhui flies past his ear.

“Direction!” Junhui yells, and Jeonghan somehow miraculously understands.

“Next to the Great Lodge!” Jeonghan yells back, slamming his staff onto the ground as a barrier of light surrounds the town. Avarosans peek out of their homes to watch the spectacle, ooh-ing and aah-ing as Jeonghan pushes the storm out of their town. He then stumbles, getting down on one knee the moment Junhui lands on the ground. Junhui wishes he could rush over and make sure Jeonghan’s okay. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have time.

He bursts into the small healer’s hut, grabbing the jar on his waist as he spots the healers jump at his arrival. The poro lies on a tiny bed in the center of the room, a sickly green to its fur as it clings onto Yuqi. She whips her head up to Junhui, eyes wide as he tosses her a jar of flower petals.

“Burn them, quick,” Junhui tells her. She nods, handing the jar to the nearest healer. Another healer holds a small pot in front of the first healer, who drops the petals into the pot and rushes to a fire to burn them. The moment the smoke starts waffing, Yuqi’s already bounding to the pot, holding her poro over it as it basks in the scent of the flower. Junhui bites his bottom lip nervously, praying his memory serves correct.

Slowly, the shade of green on the poro fades back to its white, and everyone in the room sighs in relief. Junhui’s shoulders sag as he sighs, the creeping hint of exhaustion biting at him as the adrenaline fades.

“Thank you,” Yuqi turns to him, tears brimming out of her eyes. She opens her mouth to say something else, but Junhui can’t make it out. He blinks once, twice before feeling his knees give out. Spots dance in his vision, and Junhui promptly faints.

At least this time, Junhui saved someone before blacking out.


	13. Chapter 13: Thank you (JH)

_To be completely honest, Jeonghan doesn’t miss the Dream._

_There are happy memories in the mustard coloured background that spent five hundred years taking him and Jisoo around Runeterra in the world’s longest game of peek-a-boo, decorated with laughter and the pure bliss as they found company in each other. But then again, five hundred years is a long time. The break was inevitable._

_So why can’t Jeonghan stop regretting his final moments here?_

“Jeonghan?” Junhui’s voice interrupts Jeonghan’s train of thought before he can reach something past guilt. It gnaws in the back of Jeonghan’s mind, ready to take over at a single mention, but Jeonghan allows him to dwell on guilt a little longer. It’s better than what’s to come.

“Is this the Dream?” Junhui asks. Jeonghan turns to him, sadness in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Jeonghan confirms. Junhui bites his lips, nodding in acknowledgement as he moves around the dream.

“It’s pretty spacious, I guess,” Junhui jokes nervously, “kind of bland though.”

Jeonghan shrugs. “The walls show real-time visions around the world sometimes. Although we were never the ones to control where to look.”

Junhui raises an eyebrow.

“Disembodied voice?” he asks. Jeonghan nods. Junhui returns his attention to the walls, absentmindedly wandering to the far back walls of the room, where the mustard backdrop is etched with flowing black scripts written in the ancient language. Junhui runs his fingers over the words, studying the inscriptions before turning back to Jeonghan.

“Do you read whatever this is?” Junhui asks. Jeonghan shakes his head.

“Nah, I got the translated version from the voice,” Jeonghan explains. Junhui looks at him expectantly, and Jeonghan sighs.

“I really can’t do a creepy voice imitation, nor can I do the simulation thing with all the projections, you know. Besides, I already told you about it.”

Junhui remains still, the expectant look still in his eyes as he plops down onto the floor.

“But I wanna hear it here! In the creepy old yellow room of five hundred year naps!”

Jeonghan sighs, pinching his nose bridge. He takes a deep breath, clearing his throat before he starts reciting.

“From darkness comes one’s common foe, from past to future one’s self must grow. And though their hearts share joy and pain, their lines will fall, though life is saved.

“The one with heart of snow and ice, the one who paid life’s deepest price. The one who learns of other’s minds, the one that saved and the one that died.

“A final breath, one learns to love, and closing eyes flies far above. One’s brightest smile shall lose its shine, one’s twisted limbs to fight the vines.

“Sun’s scorching rays to lose one’s life, moon’s soothing smile to give one light. A diamond heart to guide one home, where answers lay in past’s tome.

“The rip in space that shall be mend, with two lost souls finding their end.”

Suddenly, a new voice interrupts. “In one’s old heart, learn to forgive, and one that shall return his gift.”

Jeonghan turns around, finding a petite girl with long black hair smiling at him. She’s holding an ornate bronze hand watch in her hand, whose seven golden hands are slowly inching their way towards the zero at the top of the watch. A countdown, Jeonghan realizes.

“Jeonghan? What are you looking at?” Junhui asks, peering around Jeonghan and meeting the girl’s eyes. She smiles, pocketing her watch in her pale blue summer dress now that she has their attention.

“I trust it you’ve finished your business in the Freljord, Assassin?” the girl demands. Junhui just stares at her in confusion, tilting his head and blinking. In contrast, Jeonghan’s eyes widened at the recognition of her voice.

“You,” Jeonghan whispers, a cross of disbelief and anger crossing his voice. He doesn’t quite know why he’s angry, though. The girl smiles at him.

“Me,” she agrees, smirking. She walks towards Jeonghan, gingerly placing a hand on Jeonghan’s shoulder. Magic blooms at her fingertip, absorbing into the Dreamscape as the mustard yellow fades into a scene. They’re in the middle of some kind of desert town, presumably somewhere in Shurima. The sun beat down bright on Jeonghan’s face, making him squint as he took a look at his surroundings. There’s a small cafe to his right, beige umbrellas blocking the noon sun of the region from the Shurimans casually sipping their drinks under the shade. A boy walks out from inside of the cafe, holding a tray with two drinks as he serves the customers. His cheeks are rosy from the heat, sweat beading at his forehead, but his smile is so bright Jeonghan might’ve never noticed the wrinkle of exhaustion on his forehead. A pang of protectiveness springs forwards in him, an inexplicable pull towards the boy surging as he wonders what’s wearing this poor soul down. However, the boy’s wrinkle wasn’t the first thing Jeonghan noticed about him, eyes fixated on the small heart-shaped diamond tattooed on his shoulder. Jeonghan sucks in a breath.

“Which one is he? It’ll take a while to reach him,” Jeonghan starts mumbling, already formulating a plan in his mind. He glances at Junhui, watching him stare at the boy with a curious look to him, although it’s coated with something else. A little extra.

A look Jeonghan knows a little too well.

“He’s kind of hot,” Junhui comments off-handedly, trying to sound casual. Jeonghan can hear the creeping gay panic in his voice, but decides not to comment.

“He is under the Shuriman sun,” the girl deadpans. Junhui shakes his head, opening his mouth to correct her when Cafe Boy finishes serving and stares out into the streets, smiling directly at Junhui’s location. Jeonghan looks past him, seeing two cloaked figures approach and sighs. Junhui’s cheeks dust pink and he whirls around, shoulders shagging when he sees the figures too. Poor boy.

“This one isn’t for you to find,” the girl breaks the silence, tugging Jeonghan’s sleeve to get his attention. Jeonghan turns to her, confused.

“What do you mean?” Jeonghan asks.

“The fire tender needs someone a little more, ah, stubborn to convince. I believe the Archer would have been a more fitting choice,” the girl explains.

Jeonghan’s eyes widens, whipping his head towards the two cloaked figures. The hood’s too far down on both of their faces, but Jeonghan can clearly make out the bow and quiver on the back of one figure, cloaked in the same white cloak Wendy gave Jisoo five hundred years ago.

“Is that—” Junhui starts.

“Jisoo,” Jeonghan whispers, choking as he feels that gnawing feeling on his mind return. Guilt he can deal with. Sadness, sure, and loneliness was inevitable. No, more than any of those things, Jeonghan hated remembering for one singular reason.

Hope is a dangerous emotion, after all.

“That’s him?” Junhui asks, pointing at the figure trailing behind. Jeonghan bites his bottom lip, nodding. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his pulse as he turns to the girl. The physical embodiment of the disembodied voice he heard too often in his five hundred year limbo.

“Why are you showing me this?” Jeonghan demands, staring at the girl with hurt, broken eyes. He dares not hope for a second chance, despite every fiber of his being wishing he could be there. There, next to Jisoo so he can finally say sorry. To give up his ridiculous idea that they could find Seungcheol again. The girl smiles sympathetically, gesturing at the figures.

“Hope can destroy the strongest of humans,” the girl starts. Jeonghan follows her gaze, watching as the first figure tugs on Jisoo’s arm and points at the cafe. Cafe boy smiles at them, waving politely to urge them closer. Jeonghan can see two girls inside of the cafe, peeking out the window to get a glimpse at the new visitors. Jeonghan follows their gazes, watching as the first figure grabs his hood, flicking it back as the sun finally illuminated his face.

Jeonghan chokes, once again.

“But how?” Jeonghan whispers, staring in disbelief. A mop of messy black hair shines under the sunlight, silver highlights curling around the front strands in a fashion that should not be this attractive. The figure’s eyes shine with the prettiest swirls of green, swimming in a pool of irises Jeonghan could only dream of for so long. A large broadsword hung at the figure’s back, black metal glinting in the light as it reflected off of the figure’s coat. Black with silver linings, ideal to store magic.

Junhui whirls his head in Jeonghan’s direction, then at the figure, and then back again. He slowly smiles at the sight of Jeonghan’s dumbfounded look.

“I’m guessing this is lucky bachelor number two?” Junhui jokes, although Jeonghan promptly ignores him. He turns back to the girl.

“How isn’t he dead? It’s been five hundred years, and he wasn’t stuck in a limbo like the rest of us.”

The girl shrugs, although a smile of amusement tugs at the corners of her lips.

“There is a blessing,” the girl starts, gaze not meeting Jeonghan’s own, “for the guardians whose jobs never quite finish. He was supposed to reincarnate into another form, wielding a more refined version of his spirit dragon.”

The girl pauses, smile softening into admiration.

“But he chose to take on the burden of an eternal guardian instead, vowing to see his quest through until the end. I believe an old friend in Demacia aided him. After all, she has sheltered mage childrens for millennias before you were even conceived, Aspect.”

“Wendy?” Jeonghan asks. The girl nods. He stares at Seungcheol, dumbfounded as he watches Jisoo join him. There’s an expression of conflict on Jisoo’s face, as if he can’t decide to be happy or sad. Jeonghan wanted to scream at him, to tell him to just let go and find some lasting happiness for once. Jisoo turns to his position, staring right into Jeonghan’s eyes as if in a trance. Jeonghan bites his bottom lip, although he knows Jisoo can’t see him. He’s not really here, only a mirage while his real body slept under the midnight sky of the Freljord.

Still, Jeonghan takes a step forward, forcing a smile onto his face as he opens his mouth.

“Go,” he whispers to Jisoo. Jisoo startles, a stray breeze ruffling his hair as he stares at the flying dust in amazement. His eyes turn downwards, guilt colouring his irises as he bites his bottom lip. Seungcheol notices him, tapping Jisoo on the shoulder to get his attention. Jeonghan watches as they disappear into the cafe, and the scene starts to melt along with them.

Now, he was alone again.

Silence covers the air, a tense kind of atmosphere Jeonghan absolutely despised, but he’s too tired to try to break it. Too tired of stopping himself from daring to hope. The girl vanished along with the scene, the ghost of her sympathetic smile etched into Jeonghan’s brain as he felt the first tear prick at the corner of his eyes. His knees give out, and Jeonghan can’t hold back the sob anymore.

“Oh goddess—Hannie?” Junhui mumbles to himself, rushing over to stop Jeonghan from falling over. Jeonghan bites his cheeks, stopping another sob from ringing out as he glances at Junhui with shaking limbs.

“I—”

“—am really not having a good dream. It’s okay. I got you,” Junhui interrupts, rubbing circles into Jeonghan’s back and Jeonghan’s heart breaks at their dynamic. He had once wished to become a guardian who could comfort and help Junhui to a fraction of the degree his friends back home did, but here he is, doing the exact opposite. A tiny surge of pride tickles the corner of Jeonghan’s soul, happy that Junhui’s found his balance. A delicate balance between acknowledgement and acceptance of his past. If only Jeonghan could do the same.

“It's okay to have hope, Hannie. That’s what stops the future from becoming a bad memory,” Junhui reassures him, smiling his cheshire smile in an effort to cheer Jeonghan up. Jeonghan chokes on a sob, although a shaky smile finds itself onto his face anyway.

“Since when did you get so wise, Junnie?” Jeonghan asks. Junhui doesn’t reply, just wrapping Jeonghan in a tight hug as he rests his head on Jeonghan’s chest. Like a cat. A really unfortunate, healing cat with a dark past who can kill an army of undead spirit walkers without breaking a sweat. Jeonghan’s smiles stabilizes a bit at the thought.

“Learnt it from a great teacher,” Junhui mumbles. Jeonghan ruffles his hair affectionately, watching as the room drains of its sick mustard colour and back into the real world, spending one last glance at Junhui. Junhui’s gaze meets him halfway, an expression of pure gratitude and admiration in his eyes and Jeonghan pushes the hope surging in his chest to the surface, at long last. One day, Jeonghan tells himself, he’ll be the person Junhui thinks he is right now.

One day, he’ll grow into his role.

“So what do we do?” Junhui asks. Jeonghan looks at him, heart dropping at the pure trust Junhui places in him.

“I’ll introduce you to Wendy,” Jeonghan decides. “She must know a way to Shurima fast enough. At this point, she’s just as tangled up in this prophecy business as the rest of us.”

Junhui nods in acceptance, his body slowly fading as the room fades to white, a signal that they’re about to wake up. Jeonghan can’t wait to finally get this stupid prophecy over with. First, Wendy. Then, the other seven left in the prophecy, and then deciphering whatever the last few lines of the prophecy means. Jeonghan smiles in content. He’s dealt with this stupid obligation for five hundred years already.

A few more weeks is definitely going to hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on twitter if you want: @heonynchans


End file.
